


The Ravens of Asgard

by Solosam



Series: A Perfect Diamond World [4]
Category: Frozen (2013), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Break Up, Drama & Romance, F/F, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Incest, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Love Triangles, Magic, Mild Smut, Napoleonic Wars, References to Norse Religion & Lore, References to Shakespeare, Romance, Sexual Content, Shakespeare Quotations, Sibling Incest, Swords & Sorcery, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1985727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solosam/pseuds/Solosam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elsa and Anna's secret is revealed to the world. Tycho discovers he has been deceived. Two mysterious brothers are behind it all. Who are they and what do they want? At the heart of the mystery waits Wotan and the Ravens of Asgard. The fourth entry in the 'Perfect Diamond World' series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ravens of Asgard

 

_This story immediately follows 'The Infinite Prison' and is the fourth of the 'Perfect Diamond World' series._

  
 

**1807**

 

Every time Elsa woke up, there was a brief few seconds of semiconscious bliss before reality struck like a wave against jagged rocks. And this morning was worst than most. She was gasping, her heart pounding, unable to truly comprehend what had happened. There was a cup of hot chocolate next to her. It was steaming in the cold air. And the sudden realization that her sister was nearby bordered on terrifying.

Elsa didn't know what to do. Should she pretend she didn't know she was there? Would she be the one to talk first? She was suddenly hot and flustered, too bashful and ashamed to think straight. There was a certain comfort in ignorance, as though Elsa would be happier going the rest of her life never knowing what Anna felt than face the stark reality of what they had done. Together.

Anna knocked on the door, even though it was open. "Elsa?" she asked.

"Hey," Elsa said gathering up her blankets around her.

"I'm... I'm sorry for what I did..."

"Anna, stop. I'm the one that... I started it. I'm sorry."

Her sister was still wearing her nightshirt. Anna's face was red. Elsa had never seen her blush before. But they had been kept apart for so long that there were a great many things she had never seen Anna do. Like cry. She wept last night, and even now a single diamond tear ran down her cheek. She stood at the edge of Elsa's bed but said nothing.

All Elsa could do was think about last night. Her beauty in the moonlight, overwhelming, perfect, pure. The Princess, sitting on the throne of Arendelle while her Queen took her and tasted her most precious secret. Anna shivered, and hid her face with her hands. Torn. Confused. A little scared, even. And then came the trembling, shivering climax that shook her like an avalanche, and Elsa drew a precious cry from her lips.

"Where are you, Anna?" she asked. "You look like you're just lost." It was a silly question. She knew damn well Anna was thinking the exact same thing.

Anna bit her lip and shook her head. "I'm trying to decide."

"Trying to decide what?"

The Princess looked deep into her Queen's eyes. Sparkling. Infinitely deep. Like staring into an oceanic abyss that might not even have a bottom. She slowly, softly traced Elsa's lips with her finger. And in that moment Elsa was mesmerized. She could only think of Anna's lips. And all the wonderful, terrifying, incredible things they might do together. Elsa was on the edge of begging for it, but she didn't need to.

The nightshirt fell to the floor. She was an Aphrodite. She was perfect, from her strawberry blonde braids to the smallest freckle on her shoulder. And she wasn't a child... not anymore. She was a woman, and she had made her choice.

"I love you," Anna said, taking her sister's tender hand and pressing it against her skin. "I love you so much."

And they made love that morning. Gasping, desperate, uninhibited passion exploding free of its invisible cage. They kissed, and tasted, and laughed, just a little. This time it was Anna's turn to discover how Elsa tasted. She explored Elsa with her tongue and didn't stop until her sister screamed her name.

 

* * *

 

**1819**

 

That was, subjectively, four years ago. Twelve, for the rest of the world, but math was a bit more complex when time travel was involved. That was why her friend, Rapunzel, was already thirty. Anna was twenty-two that May. Still young enough to feel the heat of desperate passion... but old enough to begin, ever so slightly, to comprehend the sheer magnitude of life and appreciate what a lifetime with one person would mean.

"I want to grow old with you," Anna said, as they sat on the Beirasham hilltop and looked west to the distant sea.

Elsa picked a dandelion and blew on it, scattering floating, sparkling seeds in the sky. "Me too," Elsa said. "We can be a pair of old ladies living together with our nineteen cats."

"And making them little sweaters," Anna giggled. She rested her head on her sister's shoulder. Her sister... her lover... her bride and her whole world. At twenty-two, she was also beginning to comprehend the difference between infatuation and love. She had been infatuated with men in her life... Hans, briefly. Kristoff, slightly longer. Tycho, several weeks at least. But she loved her sister.

"I’ll always love you," Elsa said. "Always and forever."

“There's just one thing.”

“...what's that?”

“Promise me we'll have children one day.”

“We can't-” Elsa began.

“We'll figure it out. We'll adopt or something. Just promise me. One day.”

“Okay,” Elsa said. “I promise. One day.”

 

* * *

 

****1822** **

 

Elsa charged Wotan, ready for his spear. He stabbed once, twice; Both times Elsa leaped out of the way. Striking Gungnir aside with her sword, for one brief moment she believed she had pushed past his guard. No such luck. Wotan swept the groundwith the butt of the shaft and knocked her feet out from under her. The sword clattered to the floor.

Now Tycho lunged forward again, but Anna held him back. Wotan stared at them for a moment and, satisfied that they were cowed, he turned his attention back to Elsa. She tried to rise, but Wotan brought the spear down on her chest and pinned her to the floor.

“Must I slay you too, Grandchild? Will tiny Baldr be my only kin? Resist me not. This tale has reached its end. Come with me, be Mother to him, and leave behind the world of death and tears.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Elsa spat.

* * *

**The Ravens of Asgard**

* * *

 

**1822**

There was a time, years ago, when Tycho Halvdan called her the Queen of Diamonds. He was a young man, then, at the naive age where he still believed that beauty alone made a woman good and wholesome and pure. Back when the barrier between fantasy and reality was paper thin. Tonight he was living his fantasy, in every possible detail except the most important one of all. She did not love him, and he did not love her. Not anymore.

This did not stop her from being stunning. She wore her hair up, with a sleek blue dress that glittered in the lamplight. It was made of pure frost, a frozen crystalline gossamer spun out of her will alone. The ladies in London and Paris were beginning to favor exaggerated hoop skirts and increasingly lethal corsets. Elsa couldn’t have cared less. She wore whatever she wanted, even if it clung to her perfect body like a glove.

"What are you thinking?" Elsa asked.

"Do you want a deep thought or a shallow one?"

"Deep, please."

"Nobody ever picks deep first," Tycho said.

Elsa shrugged. "I'm feeling adventurous today."

"You look very beautiful tonight," he said.

Elsa raised an eyebrow. "That's it?" she asked. "That's your deep thought?"

"You'd be surprised," he said, adjusting the high collar of his shirt. "A beautiful woman is like a narcotic drug. A beautiful woman is anesthetic for the soul. A young man will look at a beautiful woman and immediately presume she has every sort of virtue he can think of. And he'll do the stupidest things just to get a kind smile and a batted eyelash."

"Wow," Elsa gasped, smiling. "At least you’re honest. If you put that in a book, people might actually read it. Because trust me, your usual 'will-to-power' garbage has got to be the worst sexy talk ever."

She glanced out the window overlooking the city of Heimdlstad, with its cathedral and lighthouse, and the North Atlantic beyond. Like most of the homes in Heimdlstad, theirs was small. Quaint, even, and built on a steeply sloping road. This peninsula was once the Kingdom of Arendelle, branching off of the network of cliffs and rivers quite close to Nidaros and the Trondheimsfjord. Now it was a province of Norway, and it had been since Elsa gave up the throne in 1808 to pursue a life of solitude with her lady love.

It had become something of a dark joke among the people of Arendelle. With a King, two Queens, and a Princess all believed lost at sea, they were now Norwegian while being ruled by a Frenchman housed in Sweden. So whenever someone asked who their Sovereign was, the customary response was to throw up one’s hands and declare, “Nobody can figure it out!” This always elicited much laughter. In truth, Carl Johan was a conservative but largely benevolent King.

"Have you heard from Iris?" Tycho asked, breaking her chain of thought.

"No," she lied. "Why? Do you miss her?"

"No," he lied back. "I just wonder where she is sometimes. I try not to ask myself what might have been. That road leads to madness."

"How are things going with Rapunzel?"

"Her Highness gives me odd jobs. I write speeches for the royal family. I’m the honorary patron of a rifle brigade. Mostly she tasks me to undermine the Carlsbad Decrees at every possible opportunity. She's a bit of a rogue."

Elsa smiled at that. "Her first husband was a rogue. Some of it must have rubbed off on her. I wish you could have met him… He was like your exact opposite in every way. But seriously, what's going on? I didn't introduce you so you could write speeches and run errands."

Tycho took a deep breath and pondered. "Have you ever tried to court royalty?"

Elsa giggled at the thought.

"It’s impossible. Trust me. I should know. The biggest thing is that the man isn't allowed to ask. He has to wait for her to ask him."

"Really?" Elsa asked. "Is that why you never asked-"

"No," he interrupted. "I never asked because I was a young man terrified of failure, and a total chickenshit to boot."

"Pffft. Maybe I should give you a gun and send you back to Schleswig. You seem braver when you have a gun in your hands."

Tycho laughed. "That's how it works for most men."

"I've never heard you laugh," Elsa said. "At least, I don't recall it. You were always so serious. You can't push through life on willpower alone. Here’s a question: Knowing what you know now and looking back, would you have regretted trying?”

“You mean, if I tried to court you and failed, would it still have been worth the effort?”

“Yes,” she said. “I think so many people are terrified by the prospect of humiliation that they don’t even try for the things they want in life. They become passive and mope around being sad because they don’t have the life they wanted, while at the same time they didn’t do anything to reach out and take it. I should know. It’s the story of my life.”

Tycho rested his hand on his chin and thought about it. “Yes,” he finally said. “Even with the benefit of hindsight, I should have… I should have tried. I don’t know how I would have done it… But it would have been worth it, if only to show myself that it was okay to take risks.”

“You were stuck in a pretty tiny box.” Elsa glanced at the bedroom door, wondering what was taking so long. She took a sip of tea. “So, having come to this epiphany, when are you going to ask Rapunzel?”

Tycho winced when he realized she had talked him into a trap.

Elsa broke out in hysterical laughter. “Oh my Lord, look at your face!” she laughed. “Now you’ve admitted it, so you have to follow through. Looks like you’re stuck.”

“You are an evil woman,” he joked.

“You just don’t like being outsmarted. See, all those things you just told me? Those are things you should be saying to _her_ .”

Just then the door opened. Tycho stood politely as Anna and Rapunzel emerged, each ready for a night out. Anna, baring her shoulders in her favorite green dress. Rapunzel, wrapped with lace and ribbon in her signature shade of lavender. In an age where ladies were expected to keep their long hair tied up, Rapunzel stubbornly insisted on keeping it cut short. The very idea of long hair was intolerable to her.

“Oh, look at Tycho!” Anna said, admiring his green-and-black dolman’s jacket. “I love it when he dresses up. He always manages to look like a soldier.”

Rapunzel giggled. “It’s true. The war’s been over for years and someone forgot to tell him.” Her German accent was adorable.

Elsa just smiled and sipped her tea. Rapunzel was over thirty, now. But whenever she and Anna got together it was like watching schoolgirls play with dolls. And that was good. They didn’t have enough friends in this world. And neither did Tycho, for that matter. The truth was that when most people found out that two young women were living alone together, they started asking uncomfortable questions. Rapunzel did not. Whether that was because she suspected the truth or simply assumed the best in everyone, Elsa did not know.

Rapunzel smiled when Tycho offered her his arm. They walked together, out into the summer night where a coach waited in the street. Anna followed close behind, practically giddy with excitement. This is what she lived for… fancy dresses, and parties, and nights at the opera. During her long years of solitude Elsa had learned to accept loneliness and silence. Anna raged against it.

“Have you ever been to the Kongsgaaden Opera?” Rapunzel asked, as they arranged themselves in the plush cab.

“No,” Anna said. “I’ve seen lots of theatre, at the palace, but not a big opera house.”

“This should be fun then. I went with Eugene once. The place is huge.”

Tycho looked out the window as the coach rolled down the street. Elsa watched him watch the world. Ever the hunter. Always suspicious, always ready… Watching the world from a distance instead of joining it. She kicked him in the shin.

“What?” he mouthed silently.

Elsa gave him an angry look and nodded to Rapunzel.

“Oh, um… So what are we seeing tonight?” he asked.

“Please say it’s not _Faust_ ,” Anna whined. “If it’s _Faust_ I’m going to kill myself.”

“I like _Faust_ ,” Elsa mumbled to no one in particular.

“No, I wouldn’t inflict that on you,” Rapunzel explained. “This one is new. It’s very mysterious… Nobody even really knows what it’s about. It’s called, ‘ _The King in Yellow_.’”

 

* * *

 

The Kongsgaaden Opera was as glorious and resplendent as any of the King's mansions... or at least it did a good job of faking it. It looked like a thousand candles were lit in every one of its dozens of windows. The world was cast in shades of gold and suffused with an amber glow. They were anonymous here, surrounded in an ocean of tailcoats and top hats, frilly dresses and long white gloves. In truth, they had each come to prefer it that way for their own reasons. Elsa and Anna, for their part, enjoyed living in Arendelle but had no desire to return to the public eye. One benefit of a lifetime of isolation was that most of Arendelle didn’t even truly know what they looked like. Every so often they would see an older man or woman staring at them as though they had seen a ghost. And Anna, without fail, would throw them a mischievous wink.

They sat together in a private booth, three stories up, looking over the vast crowd. There were perhaps three thousand people here. Many of them were Arendelle’s wealthiest. A few from Norway, Weseldon, Sweden… It seemed like most of Scandinavia had turned out for this performance. Anna was practically hopping in her seat, lost in a spinning, decadent world of music, color, movement and life. Rapunzel whispered something in Tycho’s ear. Elsa couldn’t hear it, but the grin on Rapunzel’s face suggested it was something subversive.

The curtain rose. Limelight lamps cast a bright glow on the stage. The set was strange. A dark obelisk marked with odd, many-angled runes stood in the center. Elsa's native Norwegian was not terribly far removed from the language of the _Prose Edda_ . She suspected it was just what some British set builder imagined a rune - stone would look like. The remainder of the set was meant to evoke the idea of a castle. A castle sculpted out of soft wax, with translucent, uneven bricks that sparkled with an opalescent sheen.

“Oh no,” Anna whispered. “This is going to be one of those conceptual French things, isn’t it?”

Two young actresses stepped onto the stage. One wore blue; the other, green. They both had Tudor-style slashed sleeves and scandalously plunging necklines. The first stepped forward, and in a distinctly glorious falsetto began to sing:

 

_It has been three years since our King's departing_  
 _On a spiritual quest spontaneously embarking_  
 _Abandoning his kingdom of fair Carcosa_

 

_Every year hence we have remembered this day_  
 _The time when our father did lose his way_  
 _And entrusted to his daughters, his Kingdom Carcosa_

 

_Two sisters born mere heartbeats apart_  
 _But too much together for their mother's heart_  
 _The elder your narrator, the controller Elsanna_

 

_Two sisters tasked with a kingdom's maintaining_  
 _In the face of the sovereign's sudden abstaining_  
 _The younger, see yonder, the dreamer Annelsa_

 

Elsa suddenly became very uncomfortable in her seat. She squirmed, a little. It was an odd sensation. Twelve lines into the production, and her heart was pounding like a drum. It was so strange… dreamlike, even… No, not a dream. It was like staring into a snake pit. Like watching a nightmare play out in real life.

"Are you okay?" Anna asked.

"I don't know," she said. "Something's not right. Did she just say 'Elsanna?' What is this?"

It was now Annelsa's turn to sing. Before she began, actors dressed as noblemen emerged from the wings, each one hiding his face behind an identical mask. There were perhaps two dozen on stage, not one an individual save the two sisters.

 

_The King in his fancy abandoned his post_  
 _And now in his absence we worship his ghost_  
 _The duties of the throne have now become thine_  
 _The kingdom we own through Carcosa's dark time_

 

_Elsanna, my sister, behold all these masks_  
 _Do they not bring you solace in your lonely task?_  
 _A uniform vista of silent solemnity_

 

_The face of our father looks back from all corners_  
 _Reminding us why we endure in our labors_  
 _Lest we lose sight of our grave formality_

 

And at that moment, a visitor entered the stage. Unlike the rest of the chorus, this one was dressed in tattered rags. He was, head to foot, a hideous mustard yellow color. The eponymous King in Yellow. His mask, too, was identical to those of the chorus.

 

_Mysterious guest who stands so silent_  
 _You mock dignity with your garish raiment_  
 _Take off your mask and speak your name_  
 _Do as we ask and we shall do the same_

 

_Annelsa: You, sir, should unmask._

 

_Stranger: Indeed?_

 

_Elsanna: Indeed it's time. We all have laid aside disguise but you._

 

_Stranger: I wear no mask._

 

_Annelsa: No mask? No mask!_

_Elsanna, my sister, the King has returned_  
 _Our world's a disaster, our lives overturned_  
 _All we've accomplished, all we have made_  
 _So many debts that must now be repaid!_

 

Elsa suddenly gasped and gripped Anna’s hand. She was transfixed and terrified at the same time. This was their life. Twisted, distorted by unflattering allegory… but still unmistakably theirs… And it was careening into some kind of hateful critique she couldn’t yet understand.

"Something's very wrong," she said.

“I see it, too,” Anna replied.

Rapunzel looked at the sisters, then back to the stage.

 

_Annelsa, my sister, I've lived for the tragedy_  
 _Were it to end I couldn't bear the humility_  
 _Who gave him his writ? Who sent him to try_

_To keep me from my love, one with Wind and Sky?_

 

No. Please, _no_ …

 

_We mourned his presence for twenty long years_  
 _First time in forever that we shed no tears_  
 _Come my bride, together, we'll see_

_What he makes of your magic, Carcosa's Snow Queen_

 

And then they kissed. In front of two thousand people representing the aristocracy of Northern Europe, the two sisters shared a passionate, hungry, incestuous kiss. Elsa clapped her hands over her mouth and wailed. There were tears in her eyes. The audience as a whole stared in stunned silence. Never before had they seen something so obscene, much less on a public stage. And it was obscene. Where Elsa and Anna shared a romantic, erotic love, the Queen and Princess of Carcosa gnawed on each others' lips like animals.

"We need to go," Elsa said. "This is wrong. How is this happening?"

Tycho shushed her with a finger over his lips. He rose from his seat, but did not look at her. Nor did he look at the stage. Elsa watched his eyes scan the audience. He was a jaeger at heart. His ears were fading but his eyes were still sharp. And right now he was looking for prey. Who was watching them? Who was enjoying this?

“Oh God,” Rapunzel cursed, staring at the stage, and then looking back to the sisters. Elsa’s eyes met hers for a brief moment. It felt like the world was spinning in slow motion… She could practically watch the pieces of the puzzle fall together inside Rapunzel’s mind. “Oh God!” she repeated, standing up and backing away from Elsa. “How did I not see it? I’m… I’m going to be sick!”

Elsa suddenly felt panicked, claustrophobic. The audience was booing and jeering. Some people were attempting to flee the madness. A darkness was closing in, a creeping blackness at the edges of her vision. Was she going to pass out? Anna took her sister by the hand and pulled her out into the hall, where Elsa vomited on the carpet.

“What’s going on?” Anna cried. Her eyes were wet, tears running down her face. “That was- What _was_ that?”

“That was us,” Elsa whispered, and vomited again.

“This can’t be happening,” Anna said. “This is so fucked up…”

Rapunzel tried to leave, but Tycho grabbed her arm, begging her to wait. “How dare you!” she snapped, twisting out of his grip. Her face was bright red. Whether she was enraged, humiliated, or some combination of the two Elsa couldn’t tell. Elsa herself was on the edge of fainting. She watched Rapunzel flee down the hall.

“We have to move,” Tycho said.

“What did you see?” Anna asked.

“Nothing. But we have to move. Someone is watching us. I just don’t know who.”

 

* * *

 

Every time Elsa woke up, there was a brief few seconds of semiconscious bliss before reality struck like a wave against jagged rocks. And this morning was worst than most. She was gasping, her heart pounding, unable to truly comprehend what had happened. There was a cup of hot chocolate next to her. It was steaming in the cold air. Anna’s peace offering.

“Oh no,” Elsa whispered. She had been here before… she knew this feeling. It was the same terrible feeling she had last time her life was about the spin out of control. “Anna!” she cried.

Their home in Heimdlstad was tiny compared to the Doyle House in Beirasham. They shared a four-posted bed, and kept one much like it in the second bedroom for the sake of appearances. Dark streaks of mascara covered her cheeks and pillowcase. Elsa didn’t remember crying herself to sleep last night, but she knew it must have happened. It was certainly plausible.

“Elsa?” Anna said, standing in the doorway. She was wearing nothing but her nightshirt, and she had at least had the presence of mind to remove her makeup before sleeping. And she was not blushing this morning. If anything, her face was terrifyingly pale.

“Did that really happen?” Elsa asked knowing what the answer would be.

Anna bit her lip and nodded.

“I'm sorry,” Elsa said, forcing herself to rise and sitting on the edge of the bed. “I'm so sorry. I ruined everything.”

“It's not your fault,” Anna said, sitting next to her sister. She tried to put her arm around Elsa's body, but Elsa squirmed away from her.

“Don't touch me. Please, just... don't. I feel dirty all over.” Elsa rose and left the room. She quickly went from window to window, making sure every curtain as drawn and every shutter fastened. The thought crossed her mind that people on the street might think they had gone into mourning. And that was not far from the truth. They were mourning their own love.

Elsa stood naked, in her bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. She had said she felt dirty... but 'dirty' didn't even begin to cover it. Violated. Humiliated. Ashamed. Shame was a burning, scathing wound that did not bleed and did not heal. At best, it could be forgotten. When she had injured her sister as a child and sequestered herself from the world, she felt shame. Her father was always there to comfort her. He told her a person should feel shame for what the choices they make, not for the things they cannot control. Elsa did not not know which of the two applied to this situation. She could not control the love she felt for Anna. But to take her in her arms and make love to her... That was a deliberate and willful choice she alone had made.

It occurred to her that any love of which a person should feel ashamed is not really worthy of being called love. Then, she wondered whether she felt shame or just humiliation. She could only guess at the identity of this unseen author, but he had completely violated her. They had held her up and displayed her most intimate secret to the world. Intellectually, she knew that most people might not put two and two together and realize the play was meant to be about them. But that wasn't the point. The point was that someone, somewhere, hated her so much that they would rape her of her dignity. Rape did not need an audience to be rape, and that was the only word that could even compare to what this was.

'I'm going to be sick!' Rapunzel had shouted, when she realized the truth.

Sick.

“Elsa?” Anna asked, from the other side of the door. “Elsa don't do this, you're scaring me.”

Elsa didn't reply immediately. Instead, she walked to the door, and sat with her back against it. An unexpected weight told her that Anna was doing the same thing on the other side. For a long and terrible moment, neither sister spoke. Then Elsa finally found the strength to say what had to be said.

“I'm not sure I can do this.”

“Please don't say that,” Anna said, through the door.

“I'm not sure we can go on. Not like this. I'm tired of moving. I'm tired of lying to people. I'm tired of having to be careful of every little thing I say and do so people won't figure out we're together. This isn't life, Anna. This is still just prison. Rapunzel is the nicest person we know. She only sees the best in people. And what did she say? We make her sick.”

“She was upset,” Anna argued. “Remember when Tycho found out about us? All the horrible things he said?”

“Don't talk about Tycho!” Elsa snapped. “He stuck with us because he's in love with you. He's just waiting for the day one of us decides to quit and you can be with him.”

“That's not true. You weren't with us. You didn't hear the things he said about you. He worshiped you, Elsa. He was mad at first... heartbroken, even... But he worshiped you. Even after he knew the truth.”

Elsa said nothing.

“Elsa?” Anna asked.

“Then he deserves to be with you,” she said, hiding her face in her hands. “And you deserve to be with him. You can have a normal life. You can have children. You can hold hands in public and people won't ask you questions about why you're not... Anna, I want you to marry him.”

“Don't say that,” she said. “Please don't say that.”

“I know how you feel about him.”

Anna winced, and wiped the tears out of her eyes. “This is not okay, Elsa! And it won't fix the real problem! Someone is deliberately, maliciously trying to screw with us and we need to figure it out. We could walk away tomorrow and never see each other again and they'd still come after us and we don't even know who they are or why.”

On the other side of the door, Elsa looked up. Anna was right.

“This is how Tycho deals with things,” her sister continued. “Have you ever watched him when things go wrong? He focuses on what he needs to do _now,_ and worries about the rest later. That's what we need to do. We need to focus on what's in front of us and figure things out. Everything else can wait...”

“Alright,” Elsa said. “But I'm tired of keeping secrets. We have to tell Tycho the truth about Iris.”

“Okay. We can do that. It'll break his heart, but he's stuck with us through worse. Now are you going to open the door?”

There was a long and dreadful silence.

“Not yet,” Elsa whispered. “I think I'd like to be alone, now.”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Anna said.

“Please. I just need a few minutes.”

Elsa sat there for a long time. The weight on the door told her Anna hadn't moved. And she could hear Anna crying. She couldn't blame her. Anna had been holding it in all night. Trying to be the strong one. Not allowed to let her real feelings show. And as much as she tried to deny it, this was as bad as it got. The very idea that it might be so left her shattered and bleeding inside.

“Elsa,” Anna called.

“I'm still here,” she said, quietly.

“I'm... I just realized something. It's not snowing.”

“So?”

“So that means you're still a rational person. You're still in control, and you still know I love you. So I'm going to trust you, alright? I'm going to get us some food. And if I see so much as a snowflake I'll come running right back. Can we compromise on that?”

There was a long pause. A terrifying silence while she mulled it over.

“I'd like a bowl of lapskaus,” Elsa finally said.

“We can do that,” Anna replied.

Elsa always thought it was funny that she could hear her sister smile.

 

* * *

 

Rapunzel stood in her suite at the Dalenkontoret inn. Her Royal Highness The Duchess of Schleswig stared out the bay windows at the red clay rooftops of Heimdlstad. The sky was painted in shades of gray. Storm clouds rolled and twisted across the sky in madness and confusion. It did not rain. Not yet.

“You knew about this,” Rapunzel said. Tycho Halvdan stood with his hands behind his back. She did not condescend to look at him.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he replied. Tycho, to his credit, did not look at the floor or avert his eyes. He stared at her, long and hard, as if studying the way the dim light caressed her beautiful face.

“I'm... I'm humiliated. I've known them for years. And I never saw it. But now... now I can't un-see it. And I feel so, so stupid. I'm ashamed to even know them.”

“That's a normal reaction,” Tycho said.

“Normal?” Rapunzel asked, still refusing to look at him. “'Normal,' he says. There is no part of this that is normal. It's disgusting. And you knew. Is this why they abandoned Arendelle? So they could be alone together and do this... thing, together?”

“That's a big part of it, yes.”

“I can't believe it. It makes me ill just thinking about it. I'm guessing someone found out about them? Before, I mean.”

“Yes. A priest figured it out.”

“And what happened?” Rapunzel asked.

“I killed him.”

She finally looked at him. There were warm, glistening tears in her eyes, just ready to boil over into a flood. Tycho clenched his jaw and stared right back. “You did what?” she gasped. “I... Oh God, I don't even know you! How could you?”

“Rapunzel, please-”

“No!” she shouted, pointing an angry finger. “No! You do not call me that! I never want to hear you speak my name again. Never! I thought...” She covered her eyes with her hand. “I thought I could trust you. I almost... I almost wanted... Oh, God...”

“I had to protect them,” Tycho said. “It's what I do. There was more to it than that.”

“I don't want to hear it.”

“Was I supposed to tell you? I couldn't. If they wanted you to know, they would have told you themselves. That's not my job. I don't get to make that choice for them. I keep their secrets the same way I keep yours.”

“No, you don't! You tell Elsa everything. I heard you! Do you have any idea what would happen if the Bundesversammlung found out I was undermining them? There would be goddamned riots!”

“You heard?” he gasped.

“Yes, I heard! That house is tiny! I heard everything you said. I heard you telling her how beautiful she was. I heard you talking about me!” Now the tears were falling. They ran down her cheeks in great, unstoppable drops that fell from her chin. She didn't even try to wipe her face. “I know you're not a coward, Tycho... and I used to think you were honest. You don't want to be with me because you're still in love with her.”

“That's not true!”

“Do you think I'm an idiot?” Rapunzel asked. “Do you think I'm an idiot?”

“No!”

“Then why do you lie to me?”

“Because I want them to be happy!” he shouted. “Because I've seen so much hate, and pain, and madness in this world that I refuse to add to it. And if they are happier with each other than with me or... or Kristoff or whoever... I'd rather let them be together than do anything to hurt them or tear them apart. And what else matters, really? Who am I to tell them they can't be happy with each other, if that's what they want out of life? I thought you of all people would understand that.”

Rapunzel slapped him.

“Don't tell me what I'm supposed to think,” she said. “Or feel. I'm not a child anymore. I don't need you or anyone else.” Then she crossed the room and pulled a wooden box out of her luggage. Tycho recognized it instantly. It was the kind of case used for storing pistols.

“What-”

“I got you a present,” Rapunzel said. She sniffled, and her lip was trembling. Her face was red and wet. “I knew your birthday was coming. And I was...” She took a deep breath and regained her composure. “And it doesn't matter. Take it and go. I never want to see you again.”

Tycho took the box. He looked inside. It was indeed a pistol, a beautiful Italian flintlock with dark burl walnut stock, and elegantly subtle curve to the grip, and silver inlays all around. He swallowed hard.

“It's beautiful,” he said. His voice cracked, just a little. “Thank you.”

Rapunzel didn't say anything. She just stared out the window.

Tycho didn't let himself cry until he was alone.

 

* * *

 

Anna walked to market alone. Even though it was May, it was a cold day in Heimdlstad. Most days were. Given that they lived in Norway, it rarely came as a surprise. She would be lying if she said she wasn't afraid. Terrified, even. But she refused to feel shame. Anna would never apologize to anyone for loving her sister in any sense of the word. If there was one thing she was going to do, it was make sure Elsa knew that she was loved. Anna knew this was her purpose in life. After all, a God had told her so.

So why did she feel so torn? And she undoubtedly was torn. Torn between her certain love for Elsa and the knowledge that as long as they were together, they would never, ever be truly safe.

One thing at a time, she told herself. The fish was fresh that morning. She bought cod. Fresh pork for medisterkake. Potatoes, carrots, and a sausage for Elsa's lapskaus stew. And then she arrived at the chocolate, passing the confectioner's store and staring for a moment. She moved on. It was only then that Anna realized how truly, terribly sad she was. Ever since last night she had been putting a lid on her heart... being strong for her sister. But she had reached a point of exhaustion... So completely exhausted that even chocolate couldn't revive her.

Anna spotted a newsboy and, reaching into her pouch of skillings, bought a news sheet. The headline was some nonsense about Prince Joseph of Sweden. But there, at the bottom of the page, was a snippet about the abominable ' _King in Yellow_ .' Critics agreed the play was vile. Churches and councilmen alike were calling for it to be banned. No surprise there. But her eyes landed on the last paragraph, and she froze.

 

_...who drew parallels between the opera's cast and the former royal family of Arendelle. Critics and monarchists alike claimed the piece was deliberate slander of the late Queen and her sister. Actress Maria Hjerten, however, claimed the opera was intended to be documentary in nature._

 

A wet spot appeared on the newsprint. Anna glanced up at the sky, wondering if the rain had finally come. It had not. It was only then that she realized she had been crying. She quickly wiped her eyes. As much as she hated to admit it, there was only so much that she could take.

“You look like you're having a bad day,” a man asked.

“She looks like she's had a bad night,” his companion corrected.

Anna took a step back. Two men stood there, both dressed in dark jackets with equally dark pelises thrown stylishly over their shoulders. They had to be twins... They were identical in every way. From the unusually long noses to their messy dark curls and thin, bony cheeks.

"You are a truly astonishing person," the first said.

"I've never seen anyone so devoted to a lost cause," said the second.

"What is this?" Anna asked, taking another cautious step back.

"I'm Morgan,” the first one said with a smile. “This is my brother, Herald. Would you like to talk? We've got a private cab.”

"I don't think so."

"That's alright,” Herald explained. “Neither does Morgan. We can walk and talk, if you'd prefer.”

“You know who I am?” she asked.

“Of course,” Morgan replied. “You're Anna Summer-Born, sister and bride to the once and future Queen of Arendelle.”

“You're from Asgard,” Anna guessed. Only one other person had ever named her with a kenning.

“We’re travelers. Servants and messengers of the Allfather Gallows-God. Please don’t tell anyone. This side of the Divide is kind of like enemy territory. Come walk with us. We have a message for you and I am quite certain you'll want to hear it.” Herald (or at least, the one she assumed was Herald, they were so hard to tell apart) led them away from the crowded market square. One brother stood to each side of her as they walked. It was terribly uncomfortable. Claustrophobic, even. Anna couldn't look at one without wondering if the other was about to stab her in the back.

“The Gallows-God...” Anna began. “That's Wotan, right?”

“Absolutely. Hanged himself from the great ash Yggdrasil in exchange for the wisdom of runes and magic. Also, our boss and your grandfather.”

“What?”

“Did Sigmund not cover that part?” Morgan asked. “Sigmund and Signy were two of Wotan's many children. Oh, sure, they told people they were part of the Volsung clan but in reality-”

“Morgan!” Herald hissed. “No one cares. We'll get to the point: What did you think of our play?”

“ _Your_ play?” Anna asked. “Huh. To be honest, I'd have preferred _Faust_ .”

“Ouch.”

“You want to tell me what this is all about?”

“We can start with the play,” Morgan explained, as they walked up a cobblestone street, past the warm bakery and over the canal bridge. “It's a play about Truth. With a capital ‘T.’ ‘The King in Yellow’ is a strange play, and it has changed a great deal over the years. But the one thing that remains the same is that every character speaks the Truth. Lots of writers try to capture it. Very few succeed. And some readers aren't ready for the Truth that they hear.”

“But Truth is unmistakable,” Herald continued. “Every one of those people last night knew, with great certainty, that what they are watching was True. They may not know you personally, and there are large parts that are commentary rather than documentary, and whether they like it or not is an entirely different question. But the play's message is True, and they know it. Some it titillates, some it repels, but in the end they cannot deny it.”

Then Morgan spoke again. “It was surprisingly popular in Beirasham, in case you were wondering. I thought the British were supposed to be stuck up, but they seem to love scandal. Especially the parts with the... Um, Herald, is there a word for 'Princess incest?'”

“I suppose not,” his brother replied. “If there was, you’d remember it.”

At that moment Anna could barely focus on their message. She was just amazed by how utterly strange they were. They were twitchy, for starters. Their heads leaped from one point to another. And they had a weird, exaggerated gait, as though each step made them lift their foot too high off the ground.

“Anyway, we’ll level with you,” Herald said. “The Boss isn’t too happy right now. He's got big plans for this place but things aren't working out. Elsa Number Two came damn close a few years back, until Elsa Number One pulled her back from the edge. And our take is that they’re both pretty much inoculated to despair by now. They’re all confident, grown women and all that crap...”

Anna wasn't entirely sure about that last part, but she wisely said nothing.

“...so we kind of had to pull out all the stops.”

“You’re talking about the Fimbulvinter,” she guessed.

“The ice age that precedes Ragnarok, yes.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we gain nothing from deceit,” Herald continued. “And a threat is no good unless it’s believable. So, we figure, why fuck around?”

“You figure,” Morgan corrected.

“I figure,” his brother agreed.

“You're trying to blackmail us? If you think we'll cave in to blackmail, you don't know us very well.”

“Really? Morgan, what did Elsa say this morning?”

Morgan stopped, and cleared his throat. Then, placing his hand on his chest, he spoke in an instantly recognizable Mezzo-Soprano. “I'm not sure we can go on. Not like this. I'm tired of moving. I'm tired of lying to people. I'm tired of having to be careful of every little thing I say and do so people won't figure out we're together. This isn't life, Anna. This is still just prison.”

“Sounds like a home run to me,” Herald said. “And you should have seen the knock-down-drag-out Tycho had with Rapunzel. That was a thing of beauty.”

“Ohmygod,” Anna gasped, backing away from them. “You were watching? You've been watching us? You're sick!”

“No,” Morgan said. “We're professionals. And we're just doing our job.”

“What do you want from us?” she shouted.

“Baldr Half-Dane,” Herald said.

“What? But he's a child!”

“Yes, and someone is doing a particularly good job of hiding him from us. I've started to suspect he's got some kind of glamour on him. Something Sigmund cooked up, no doubt. By the way, did you ever get around to telling Tycho that Iris had his baby after all?”

“You probably should,” Morgan said. “We'd hate to have to go around telling _all_ of your secrets. We prefer to listen rather than speak.”

With that, Anna turned and ran. She took off as fast as she could, pushing her way through the crowded market. The two brothers just stood and watched her go.

“I can’t remember the last time we had this much fun,” Herald said.

“Christmas of 1694,” Morgan answered. “It was a Tuesday.”

“You’re a smug prick, you know that?”

"Don't worry,” Morgan said. “I remember."

* * *

 

Tycho walked up the hill to the sisters' home. He clutched the box beneath his arm, but the pistol was stuck in his belt and concealed beneath his leather greatcoat. The hill might as well have been Bald Mountain. He was tired, more tired than he had been in a long, long time. He was over thirty, now, and between his aching knees and persistently sore lower back, he knew his days of swashbuckling were soon to be behind him.

A lion's head brass knocker stared back at him. He stalled. It wasn't that he didn't want to see the sisters, or that he as afraid. Rather, Tycho's mind was a swirling cloud of hateful noise. He replayed his fight with Rapunzel over and over. It was not the things she said that troubled him as much as the things she did not say... All those times she started with a half-formed thought but stopped herself from saying something she would regret.

“ _And I was...“_

“ _I almost wanted...”_

He knew that filling in the rest of those sentences would haunt him for a long, long time. It was the greatest and most tragic question of all... what might have been? It was a question that could drive men mad if allowed to run free. And Tycho had spent a great deal of time mulling that particular question in many tragic contexts.

“Tycho?” Elsa asked, opening the door before he knocked. “What are you doing out here?”

“May I come in?”

“Yes, of course, come in. I was expecting Anna.”

Elsa looked almost as frazzled as he did. Her hair completely refused to obey her, no matter how many pins she stuck in it. He could see the dark circles under her eyes, even through her makeup. But most of all, there was an air of palpable sadness that followed her. He had not seen it in a very long time.

“Would you like tea?” she asked. “I can put some on. Or you can have it iced. That's honestly easier. For me.”

Tycho forced himself to laugh politely. At least she was trying. “It doesn't matter to me. Iced is fine. Where is Anna?”

“She went to the market, and... Is that a new gun? Seriously, where did you get that?”

“It doesn't matter,” he said.

“Huh. I thought you were missing something. Anyway, Anna went to market. She should be back soon. Do you need her?”

“No. This will be quick. I just wanted to show you something. I went back to the opera house this morning. I was asking about the company of actors from last night. The manager said they're banned from Heimdlstad and going back to Oslo soon. But I got an address. They're staying at a coaching inn on the south edge of the city.” He handed her a scrap of paper with a strip map sketch.

“We can give it a shot,” Elsa said. “We have to start somewhere and we don't have any other clues. Maybe whoever's behind this will be there.”

“That's what I was thinking.” He took the glass of tea from her and stared at it unhappily. Every time he blinked, he saw Rapunzel's angry face. In a way he supposed it was an improvement. At least he wasn't pining over Anna anymore. Then Elsa put his hand on his, and derailed his train of thought.

“Tycho... What happened? You look like hell.”

“I had a fight with Rapunzel. She said she doesn't want to see me anymore.”

“Oh, no, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you got dragged into this. I didn't mean for any of this to happen.” She leaned in and gave Tycho a hug.

Resting his cheek on her shoulder, all Tycho could think about was the shock and horror on Rapunzel's face when he told her he killed the priest Yngval. Murdered, more like. And then, as he held Elsa in his arms, it occurred to him that he had no idea how many people he had killed for this woman. The first few were clear enough. The pirates, who had it coming. But then somewhere in Loptrsborg things got confused. And by the time he was moving and shooting from inside the Mansion Salander, he had completely lost count. Eleven? Twelve?

“It's alright,” he lied, sitting back. “There's nothing we-”

Anna threw open the door and stormed into the room. She dropped a half-empty bag of fruit and fish on the table. The rest of the food was scattered over half of Heimdlstad. Gasping for every breath, her face was flushed and sweaty. She plopped herself down in a corduroy chair and tried to push stray hairs out of her eyes.

“Wow,” she said, catching her breath. “You two look like you actually like each other. That's new.”

“What happened, Anna?” Elsa asked.

“You won't believe the day I had.”

“Right now I'd believe anything.”

“So get this. The people behind the play? Aesir. Yeah. That's the face I made, too. There's two of them. They look like twins, and they're both assholes. Actually, one's an asshole. I think the other one was just an idiot.”

“Hang on,” Tycho said. “Start at the beginning.”

“Two guys. Jerk One and Jerk Two. They told me they wrote the play. They claimed they work for Wotan. And they said Wotan is pissed off because neither Elsa nor Iris has frozen the world yet, and they're going to keep screwing with us until-” She stopped, then, and bit her lip.

“What?” Tycho asked.

“We need to tell him.”

“Oh no,” Elsa gasped, and looked away.

“Seriously, what?”

“Okay,” Anna said, taking a deep breath. “This is going to be hard. Tycho... Iris lied to you. We lied to you. With her. Your baby didn't die. He's alive. His name is Baldr.”

“Wait... when-”

“He's eighteen months old,” she continued. “He looks just like you. Iris didn't want you to know. They live in Heimdlstad.”

“Why would you do that?” He jumped to his feet. Angry fireworks were going off in his head. The room was spinning.

“She didn't want to be with you. She didn't want you to know.”

“No!” Tycho said, pointing at her. “No! That is my child, too! She doesn't get to make that choice, not by herself... and neither do you! I... I can't believe this, Anna. I have a son out there and you couldn't tell me? After all this bullshit we've been through, you still don't trust me?”

“Trust has nothing to do with it,” she replied. “It's what Iris wanted.”

“Not good enough. I helped you find your father. But I don't get to be a father at all, just because Iris likes women? That is screwed up in so many ways. I can't believe this.”

“Dammit Tycho!” Elsa said, running her fingers through her messy hair. “We asked you to keep our secret. And you did. This is no different. If Iris wanted you to know about Baldr, she would have told you. We had to keep it from you. I'm sorry.”

“It is _absolutely_ different,” Tycho argued. “Because I'm not involved in your secrets. What you do with each other is your business... It doesn't hurt anyone and it doesn't cost me anything. But this is my child we're talking about. You kept him from me! Where are they?”

Elsa and Anna looked at each other.

“The convent in Elsterpark,” Anna whispered.

He immediately threw open the door and practically ran down the stairs. The rain had finally come. Dark skies cracked open in a torrent. Soon the gutters would transform into rivers. The rain fell on Tycho's bare head, but he didn't care. His mind was still struggling with the fact that he had a son. And in that moment, a tiny little seed of hate opened up inside him. This was so unreal. Cold. Wet. And utterly unbelievable.

“Tycho!” Anna cried, following him into the rain. “Tycho, come back!”

“No!” he shouted back. “I'm done with this! I'm done following you around. I'm done.. I'm done trying, Anna.” It may have just been the rain, but his eyes looked wet. “I've spent years thinking I was over you. I lied to myself and told myself I could live with... That I could be near you without being _with_ you and that I could live with it. But I can't. I was wrong. I can't do it.”

“So now you're going to leave me?”

“No, Anna,” Tycho said. “I can't leave you because we were never together. And we never will be. You made that very clear.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I'm going back to Oslo,” he said. “I'm going to see my child, and then I'm going to Oslo and I'm going to marry the first woman that smiles at me, and I'm never, ever coming back.” He turned his back on her, following the rain down the hill.

“Tycho!” Anna shouted. She ran to him, grabbed his coat, and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. Their wet lips met, rainwater sparkling on their skin. It was a desperate, needful kiss, years in the making. It was like the moment a drowning man took his first gasp of air. It was like a starving man's first taste of steak. It was so soft and so warm, here in the middle of a cold, wet world. They were anchored to each other.

“Don't leave us,” she said between kisses, then slowed and looked into his eyes. “Help me fix this. Help us one more time, and I'll be with you forever. We can't live like this... me and her... the world's not going to let us. We can't go on. But if you stay with us and help us, I'll marry you and go wherever you want.”

“Anna...” Tycho said. “You can't do that... That's not what I want. That's... No. I can't do that.” He stepped away from her, then. “I'm going to help you, but I'm doing it because I want to do it. Then I'm gone. Don't ever talk like that again. Don't even think it. You're better than that, Anna.”

She clapped her hands on his wet cheeks and kissed him again. It was long, and tender. Her lips danced a slow waltz with his. They both knew it would be their last... and they wanted to savor it.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I love you.”

Anna nodded and wiped her eyes. “I know,” she said. “I know. Go see your son. We'll be okay. But before you go... Please don't tell Baldr who you are unless Iris says its okay. Just, please don't.”

“Okay,” Tycho said. A drop of rain fell off the tip of his nose. “I can do that.”

Anna touched the lapel of his greatcoat. He looked down at her hand. It was tiny, soft, and perfect... except for the shining gold ring on her finger. Tycho asked himself, not for the first time and not for the last, what might have been.

“There's one more thing,” Anna said with a wry smile. “Elsa says don't take your new gun to the convent.”

* * *

 

“I kissed Tycho,” Anna confessed, as they walked the streets of Heimdlstad that afternoon.

“I know,” Elsa said. “You did the right thing.”

“No, I didn't. I was upset. He was upset. We've all said some things I don't think we meant. I don't want to leave you, Elsa. I'm... I don't really want to give up. Not yet. Not ever.”

“I don't know that we have a choice. We've been living in this world but we've never been part of it. We've given up everything to be together. This isn't the kind of life I wanted, Anna. This isn't how I wanted your life to turn out.”

“I know,” Anna said. “It's not what I had in mind, either.”

“Tycho was hurt. And he was confused. We need him to stay focused. You did the right thing.”

“You make me sound like a bitch.”

“No,” Elsa said. “I'm focused on the fifty meter target. Just like you said. We need to deal with this. And... everything else can come later. Besides, he needed a lift. Rapunzel basically broke his heart.”

“Did she leave him stranded at the north pole while she jumped through space and time?”

“No.”

“Then he'll get over it. I'm sorry, Elsa. I shouldn't have done that.”

“Can we please focus?” Elsa asked.

“Fine. Let's go over this one more time. What were these two Aesir like?”

“Weird. They were identical twins, like I said. They walked weird. They looked weird. All bony and twitchy, kind of. And they had this funny way of talking. I think Herald was the one in charge. He was mean and snapped at Morgan a lot. He kept saying that Morgan didn't think about things. Not sure what he meant by that.”

“Okay, and the other one?”

“He was kind of an idiot. Not dumb, but passive, sort of. Herald was definitely the brains of the operation. They had this weird way of talking to each other. Very idiosyncratic. Morgan made this joke that... well, it was actually pretty lewd. But point is, he asked about something and Herald said something along the lines of how it doesn't exist because if it did, Morgan would remember it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know. One does all the thinking and the other does all the remembering?”

Elsa gasped out loud. “I think I know who they are! Do you remember Huginn and Muninn?”

Anna thought about it. “Those are Wotan's pet birds, right?”

“Right. Huginn is Thought and Muninn is Memory. Those are their jobs. Do you think that's who you were talking to?”

“They didn't look like birds,” Anna said. “Actually, I take that back; They were exactly like birds. They had big noses, they wore nothing but black, and they had this twitchy, strutting kind of walk. If someone asked me to act like a bird, that's how I'd act.”

“Weird,” her sister said. “That's something we'll have to explore. Anyway, the inn should be up ahead.”

Like most coaching inns, this was nothing more than a large house with a stable attached. A weathered, gray sign bore the unoriginal name of ‘Skogen Hjem,’ the Forest House. It was a lonely place, sitting across from a row of high-peaked houses. A miserably wet donkey sat outside, already hitched to a wagon. The whole place stank of farm animals and stale beer. Anna immediately realized they were out of their element here, but the candlelit windows promised relief from the bitter wind and rain.

“This was a bad idea,” she said.

“Well, we’re not going back so we might as well get it over with.” Elsa removed her hood and slowly opened the door into a world just as gray and depressing as the one outside. A dozen people busied themselves packing clothing, props, and various other supplies into shipping crates. They were, without exception, sullen and sulking. The actors moved slowly, as though the simplest tasks of sorting and packing were an unreasonable burden. More than half, Anna guessed, were already inebriated.

“What was her name?” Elsa asked.

“Maria.”

“Maria?” Elsa called. “Can anyone point us to Maria?”

Not a single one responded. They just went about their work, not even caring enough to give her the time of day. Anna moved among them, dodging a crate here, stumbling over a pile of straw there. Moving day for a theatre troupe appeared to be the mother of all logjams.

“I’m Maria,” a small voice said. Anna peered around a corner, and saw a young woman sulking over a pint of something brown and vile and undoubtedly alcoholic. She looked surprisingly similar to Anna. Her hair was too dark, as were her freckles. And her face was a bit more plain. The colorless gray coat she wore didn’t complement her at all.

“Anna, did you-“ Elsa began, then stopped. “Oh good Lord, she looks like you. Make sure she’s not from the Aesir World.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Anna said as she rolled her eyes and sat down across from the girl.

“What do you want?” Maria asked. She seemed friendly enough, but when Anna removed her hood, Maria went white. She gasped, and hid her face behind her hands. “It’s you! You’re her! I mean…”

“Yes,” Anna explained. “I’m Anna. Annelsa. Whatever you called her.”

“And you know who I am?”

“Yes. I saw the play.”

“And?” Maria asked, cringing.

“It kind of made me want to punch people,” Anna said.

“Ohmygosh! I’m so sorry! We thought you were dead! Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“Please keep it down,” Elsa warned. “We’re trying to be sneaky here.”

“What do you want?” Maria whispered.

“Herald and Morgan. Do you know them?”

“Of course. They wrote the opera, and financed it. They live in the rented house across the street. The blue one.”

“Well, that was easy,” Anna said, rising from her seat. “Time to get on with the punching.”

“Wait,” Elsa said, putting a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Maria, what are you doing here? Do you have any idea what is going on?”

“You’re… You’re probably pretty mad. I get it. We all knew this thing was… well… basically pornography.”

“That’s not important to us,” Elsa said, taking a seat. “We need to know about the writers. What did they tell you? Why did you do this?”

Maria stared at her as though she was some kind of idiot. “Um… Because we’re poor. My whole family lives in Akershus. And you know what you do in Akershus? You fish, or you fish. And my parents are too sick to do either. So I sang in inns to try to earn some skillings, and these guys saw me and wanted to give me an insane amount of money to come be in their shitty play. And I thought, okay, so I sing a little and I make out with Lydia, and my family gets to eat? Um, duh. They didn’t even need me to be in the second act.”

“Great. And where are they now?”

“I don’t know. None of us have seen them since last night. The stage manager threw a screaming fit and told us to go back where we came from.”

“Alright,” Elsa said, sliding a bag of krones across the table. “Thank you. And please don’t tell anyone you saw us.”

“Umm… okay,” Maria replied. She quickly snatched the back and hid it in the folds of her cloak.

The sisters emerged, walking back out in the rain. They both pulled on their hoods, looking left and right to make sure they weren’t being watched. Anna suspected it was futile. Even if someone was pursuing them, neither of them would know what to look for. But they tried anyway, and, thinking the coast was clear, hurried across the cobblestone street to the blue house.

“You realize she’s going to tell on us,” Anna said as her sister inspected the door.

Elsa gave her a flat stare. “I know that and you know that, but you said it out loud, and that makes you a Bad Person.”

“Well, between the two of us, you’re supposed to be the pessimist. And if you’re not going to be it, I will.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Elsa said impatiently. “How about we both be optimists and let Tycho be the pessimist? Would that be better?”

“Yeah, sure,” Anna replied. “I can live with that. How are we getting in here?”

Elsa touched the keyhole. A wave of crystalline hoarfrost spread across the lock. Anna shivered as the temperature dropped. It was cold beyond cold… Colder than any metal ever should or ever could be, far below its nil ductility temperature.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Three,” Anna said, skipping ‘One’ and ‘Two’ entirely. She planted her boot as close to the lock as she could. The deadbolt shattered as if it was made of glass.

“Go on in,” Elsa instructed. “I’ll pick up the fragments. Try not to touch them. Actually, try not to touch anything.”

“Elsa? Um… I don’t think there’s anything to touch.”

She was right. The house was empty. Completely bare. Pocketing the broken shards of metal, Elsa followed Anna through the Spartan rooms. There was no evidence that anyone lived there, or ever had, for that matter. Anna went through the kitchen and the pantry, opening each cupboard one by one. Nothing. No food. No drink. No utensils. A bat clung to the ceiling. Anna stared at it for a moment, but it didn’t move and she didn’t bother it.

“This is creepy,” she said. “They have a bat problem. When was the last time you saw a house with a bat problem?”

“Anna, come here,” Elsa called.

She followed the sound of her sister’s voice into the master bedroom. The only object in the room, in the whole house, actually, was a large, round mirror. It was painted with a black circle that spiraled down to the center, where a single black feather rested. Strange runes, some recognizable, others not, followed the spiral. Anna tried to read the text, but it made her dizzy just looking at it. In each of the cardinal directions she saw a crude drawing of horses with too many legs.

“Some kind of witchcraft?” Anna asked.

“I don’t know. The drawings might be Sleipnir… Wotan’s horse with eight legs. I… have no idea what this means, but-“

Elsa never got to finish her sentence. They heard a key work back and forth in the front door. Someone on the other side muttered various oaths and curses. Then it swung open effortlessly, and Anna cringed.

 

* * *

 

 

“Princesst,” Morgan said, finally completing a thought he had begun several hours before. “That’s what we should call it.”

Herald gave him a look normally reserved for children who eat bugs. “Came up with that all by yourself?” he asked. “Tell me, do you ever think before you open your mouth?”

“You know perfectly well that I do not,” his brother replied.

Herald and Morgan walked through the black streets of Heimdlstad. It was late afternoon, and the rain had not let up. They didn't mind. The cold never bothered them, anyway. In their top hats and tailcoats, the world knew them as nothing more that the notorious producers of the vilest, most scandalous play in Scandinavian history. But they were so much more. So very much more.

“I think this is going rather well, all things considered,” Herald said.

“Have you heard from anyone lately?”

“No. Not yet, anyway. It's just a matter of time, though.”

“Should we summon Father?”

“No. We'll wait just a little longer.” Herald looked up at the unhappy sky. “I'll be so thankful when this is over. I hate these people.”

“Who?” Morgan asked. “Mortals?”

“Yes. They all think they're so important. They just run around like chickens, jumping from one thing to the next. Debauchery. Licentiousness. War. It gets tedious.”

“I don't think so,” Morgan said. “I find them completely fascinating. It's like reading a novel that never ends. I mean, you never know how it's going to turn out and the plot twists are just the best. There are plenty of boring parts, but when there are a gajillion humans walking around it's easy to switch to a new story when the one you're watching gets old.”

“Haven't we had this conversation before?” Herald asked.

“Seventeen times by my count. But I don't mind. I'm nothing if not patient.”

“Please don't condescend to me. You know I hate it when you do that.”

“Oh, really?” Morgan said. “But I have to suffer your snark and sarcasm? Do you have any idea what insults mean to someone with infinite memory? I remember them all. And yet I forgive you.”

“It's easy to forgive when you're the favorite.”

“Please. I am not. You're the one people want to hear. I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag. Unless you showed me how.”

“Delusional,” Herald muttered. “Absolutely delusional.”

“Why do you say that? You're the smartest person I know.”

“So starting with that premise, when I call you delusional, I must be right? If I'm a writer, you're a bard. Everyone in this world loves stories and you are the greatest storyteller of all. No one ever knew or ever will know more than you. I have a gift that helps me get ahead, but you have the gift that other people want. People like you, Morgan! They can't help themselves! And if I had to choose between being smart and being loved I would choose love any day of any week!"

“I don't know what to say to that,” Morgan said.

“Well, let me know when you think of something.”

“That might take a while,” he confessed with a sigh.

They walked on through the rainy streets. Morgan led him unerringly through the characteristically labyrinthine European suburbs. Norway, unlike most of Europe, had not yet come under the crushing monotony of industrialization. Nor were there the attendant problems of poverty and homelessness when workers were replaced by machines. Places like Paris and London were rapidly becoming havens of squalor and misery. And because of that, Morgan was content to spend as much time as possible in his native Scandinavia.

And then a much anticipated visitor arrived. It was a raven, a dark bird with feathers so glossy they bordered on violet. Herald held out one hand, and let it rest on his arm. The bird began to speak, singing and crowing in a language that Man had long forgot. For Herald and Morgan, of course, it was their mother tongue.

“Elsterpark?” Herald said. “I thought we looked there.”

“We didn't. I would remember.”

“Excellent. Anyway, I'll go summon father now. You go to the house and prepare the Gate. We'll need to be off in a hurry and I don't want anything to keep us up.”

“That works for me,” Morgan said.

And with that, Herald transformed. His body twisted, folding up on itself, shifting and compacting in strange ways that defied all mortal understanding of what the world was and what it was supposed to be. Hands became wingtips, feet became claws, lips became beak. And with quick hop and a flap of his wings, Herald was off into the rainy gray sky.

Morgan watched him go, and then unhappily turned uphill and marched to his home. Or, at least, the home they kept to hide their portal and to maintain the fiction that they needed a home at all. He put his key in the lock and twisted, only to find that it was already unlocked. This struck him as awfully strange, because he distinctly remembered locking the door. He distinctly remembered everything, in fact, which made it extremely unlikely that he would miss-remember something for the first time in one thousand twenty nine years.

Never one to deal well with ambiguity, Morgan slowly opened the door and stepped inside. He looked left, and right. The pantry door was cracked open, where it should have been closed. The carpet was damp. And right there, by his foot, was a shard of metal. He picked it up, and immediately cried out in pain. It was astonishingly cold. White blisters were already beginning to form on his fingertips where the skin had been flash-frozen. Then he heard a footstep. Looking up, Elsa and Anna stood there in the hall, staring at him.

No one could ever accuse Morgan of being a great thinker. But he knew when he was screwed.

* * *

 

Herald flew high over the city of Heimdlstad. He hated having to travel alone. He could never remember quite where to go and had to find his way all over again each time. Nonetheless, Herald was nothing if not persistent. Pushing through the rain, he rose higher until he was above the clouds and sailed among the snow-capped mountaintops of Norway. Then, examining the many peaks that surrounded the Heimdlstad valley, he chose the tallest one and circled until he spotted a jagged cleft in the rock. This was where his ancient master waited, a temporary Hlidskjalf in the high reaches of Midgard. Spreading his wings, Herald came to rest at the feet of Wotan.

"Hail to thee, Worlds mith Draugr-King."

Wotan did not stir. He sat as though a frozen statue carved of ice, resting his chin on his fist in a thoughtful pose. His blue robe was embroidered with snowflake patterns and runes older than man, which he had learned at no small cost. It was moments like this that Herald never quite knew what to do. He glanced left and right, twitching and flapping his wings in agitation. He wished, just for once, that his twin were here. What did Morgan say last time? That's right!

"What dreams trouble you, Seidr-Bard ?"

"I dream not, Huginn Black-Wing, " Wotan said. His voice echoed across the north like a great bass drum. "For the sharpest blade ill-used does lose its edge. I pray you bring me happy tidings from the world of Men, for I endure without the light of spring."

"I do bring news," the rave n said. With a hop and a flutter, he mounted his master's shoulder.

"And where is your brother, Muninn Mind-Scribe?"

"Tardy, my King. Ever tardy."

Wotan uttered a displeased growl, and the ice shook.

"Tis sweet and commendable, Huginn, that you ever cling to duty in your father's hour of need. Speak, that I may hear of Man. My sight grows dim, that what I have left of it."

"It is Tycho Half-Dane," Herald said.

“What of him?”

“The thing is done, the song sung. The sisters have told him where the boy is to be found. He walks to the convent... In...”

“In where?” Wotan prompted.

“I...” Herald stopped. What did they called that place? Edelpark? Etherpark? He did not know. It was most humiliating for a messenger not to remember his message. Nonetheless, Herald's mind was quick and he always thought in circles. “There is but one convent in all of Heimdlstad.”

“Are your remembrances a burden such that Muninn must bear them all? Has the wrong brother come to me, mayhaps?”

At that moment a wave of jealousy washed over Herald. Always Morgan! Herald always made the plan but Morgan always told the story. The mead-halls and unkindnesses would forget Herald had a voice at all, the way Morgan talked on and on, day and night!

“At least I am concise,” Herald said.

Wotan laughed at his excuses. “Herald, my black son, to thine own self be true and thou cannot be false to Man or Prince or God. Go now. Retrieve your brother. I will pursue Tycho Long-Rifle and I will have his son.”

* * *

 

Tycho stood in the cold rain at the gate of the convent. 'Our Lady of Humble Majesty,' the sign read. Beyond the wrought-iron fence he saw an elaborate Gothic cathedral surrounded by wood and brick dormitories. A single old nun, short and squat in her brown habit, approached to meet him. At the last possible moment, he remembered Elsa's advice and moved his pistol from his belt to the pocket of his greatcoat.

“It's a foul day for you to come pester some old ladies,” she said, staring at him through the bars.

“I'm here to see Iris,” Tycho said.

“I know no one by that name.”

“Iris Lovenskiold? That was the name she used last I saw her. She might also call herself Elsa. She had a child with her. His name is Baldr.”

The old nun's eyes narrowed. “Now those are names that I know. I am Mother Elizabeth. And you must be the boy's father. I see it now. Looks just like you, he does. Come in, before you catch your death. You weren't followed, were you? Not by anyone? Or anything?”

“Um, no,” Tycho said.

“Think hard, young man. A bird? A black dog? Even a rat? All of these animals number among the enemy's familiars. Ah hell, what does it matter? You're here already. The damage is done. Wish someone had let us know you were coming. We would have met you in town.”

“Why?” Tycho asked, following her through the gate and across the great courtyard.

“This is an old place. It was built in the eleventh century, when the Word first spread among the pagan tribes. It is guarded by many wards and seals. No form of scrying, divination, nor clairvoyance can pierce these walls. But there are no defenses against the flesh and blood servants of darkness.”

She led him to the great doors of the cathedral and through its pointed Gothic arches. A younger sister waited for him inside, and took his wet coat. Elizabeth stopped to genuflect and bless herself with Holy Water. Tycho didn't bother to imitate her. Not only was he nominally Lutheran, but it was a bit hard to keep the faith when one had met literal Vanir Gods. In any event, Elizabeth said nothing but continued on, opening a small door to her left and leading him deeper into the cathedral complex.

“The boy is a delight,” she said. “It's too bad the rain came today. He loves to play outside. And he likes warm hugs.”

“And you protect them?”

“Yes. We call him the Pagan Prince. None of us pretend to know the entire story, but we know that he is valuable to the enemy and must be concealed.”

“Why?” Tycho asked. “What would Wotan want with him?”

Elizabeth laughed at that. “I couldn't say. All I know is that he likes turning things to ice.”

Tycho didn't have the chance to ask what she meant by that. They stopped before an open door, and at that moment, it all became real for him. Iris sat there, in the glow of a stained glass window, dressed in a simple blue-and-white checkered skirt. She was beautiful as ever, utterly identical to Elsa save her for raven-black hair. And in her arms she held a toddler. He was barely a year and a half old, with thin sandy hair, heart-shaped lips, and rich blue eyes. No one in their right mind could look at this child and deny it was his son. The child looked so much like his father, it was heartbreaking. And Tycho's heart did break.

“Iris,” he said, taking a step forward.

She looked up at him in shock and horror. Tycho could practically see the different reactions fighting a war inside her: Surprise, anger, denial, fear. Iris quickly composed herself and immediately hushed him with a finger over her lips.

“Mommy,” Baldr said, waving a tiny hand. “Mommy!”

“No, sweetie,” Iris whispered. “That's Mother Beth.”

“Beth,” the child repeated.

“And this is Tycho,” she continued, bringing him close enough to see.

“Beth!” Baldr cried again.

Iris leaned in and to whisper in his ear. “If you say one word...” she hissed.

Tycho barely heard her. He was transfixed. This tiny person was his. For so long he had imagined that when a father first saw his child there would be some parting of the heavens, a radiant beam of joy and exhilarated adoration. Tycho did not feel this. He was happy, but even more than that, he was curious.

He touched Baldr's soft, round head, and his wispy strands of hair. The child gripped his fingertip, and for a moment he held his son's hand. It was fascinating. He had seen many horrible things in his life. Things he couldn't un-see or forget... But here was this tiny little boy, healthy and perfect and new. Here was something good he had brought into the world. Tycho touched his fat cheeks and Baldr giggled.

And then he looked past the child to his mother. How had they done this, and what did it mean? The first time he made love to her he believed she was Elsa... His world's Elsa. And then he came to see that she did not love him at all. Iris claimed to only love women, but in this moment Tycho realized she only loved herself. Why else would she try to keep him from his son? To tell him his child died in her womb?

There was a strange bond between a father and a son; Nothing could replace it. Sometimes caring, sometimes distant, sometimes combative... The father was master, sage, friend and priest all rolled into one. He stood tall as a giant in his son's eyes, and God intended he would spend his whole life struggling to live up to the ideal his son supposed him to be... and at the same time pray every day and night that the son would one day surpass him. And Iris had tried to deny him this? To take it away so that he would never know what it meant to complete his half of the journey and be called 'Father?'

In that moment, he learned to hate her. Absolute, total, hate.

“Would you like to come inside?” Iris offered.

“Why?” Tycho asked.

“What do you mean 'why?' You look like death. You need a towel and a shave. Baldr, do you want to play with Mother Beth?”

“Beth,” the child said one more time. Iris handed him off to the Abbess. She left them alone without being asked. Tycho stood there for a moment, just staring at the open door.

“Tycho...” Iris began as she closed it.

“How dare you?” he asked. “How dare you lie to me?”

“That's what you're going to start with? Really? Not, 'How are you doing?' or 'Is my child safe and healthy?' Fine and yes, by the way.”

“Why would...” Tycho began, then stopped. He had been fuming all the way over here, playing and re-playing every possible way this argument might play out. And now that he was here, and the moment had arrived, words failed him.

“Why would I do this to you?” She walked to a small bed. There was no crib. Iris sat next to a stuffed bear, its body squashed from being used as a child's pillow. “Because I needed to be alone. I couldn't take being around Anna anymore. I couldn't watch her be with Elsa anymore. Your Elsa.”

“I know what you mean.”

“And I didn't love you. I'm sorry, Tycho. I tried. I really did. But I didn't love you. What was I supposed to do? Would I go back to England and listen to all the ladies gossip about the unwed mother? Let Baldr grow up a poor bastard child and run off with the King's shilling at the first chance he got? Or was I supposed to marry you and be miserable for the rest of my life? What would Baldr think of that? Watching a mother and a father who can barely speak to each other day in and day out? He doesn't deserve that and neither do you.”

“You could have been honest with me,” Tycho said, taking a step towards her. “You could have just told me what you wanted to begin with. But you made the choice yourself.”

“He's my child.”

“He's mine too!”

“Tycho,” she hissed. “Please be quiet. You have no idea how voices carry in this place.”

“Do you think I care?”

“I should slap you,” she fumed. “Stop thinking about yourself!”

“Really? Because for the last two years you've been doing the exact same thing.”

Iris couldn't look at him anymore. She clenched her jaw, and took several deep breaths. “That's not the whole story. I was selfish, at first. But now I have to think about what's best for Baldr. And you do, too. And shouting so loud that everyone in the Heimdlstad can hear us won't help anything.”

“Explain.”

“Baldr has the magic. He can't control it. I couldn't keep him outside. In the real world, I mean. So I took him to Sigmund... Elsa's father, Adgar.”

“I remember.”

“Sigmund had learned a lot of things from raising me. I mean, Elsa. Us. You know what I mean. We knew it would take love, but it would also take time. And then he discovered that Wotan knew about Baldr. There aren't many places on Earth that a seidr-witch can't scry. The Prison is one of them. We weren't about to raise Baldr in that place, so he told me about the women here. They took me in. They've protected us ever since.”

“And you still couldn't tell me, because?”

“Because you were running around Prussia with that little German _tart_ .”

“Now you're going out of your way to provoke me,” he said, finally taking a chair for himself.

“Of course. I don't want you here. It complicates things. Baldr will start asking questions that I don't want to answer yet. And I know you won't hit me or tell Baldr who you are. You've got a good heart, all things considered, and I'd just freeze you anyway. So I figure I'll just annoy you until you leave me alone.”

“You're a bitch,” Tycho said.

She shrugged. “And you're predictable.” She got up, put her hands on his knees and leaned in close. “I made my choice. And once it was made I couldn't un-make it. Because I knew this is what you would do. You'd storm in here and attack me. Because you're predictable.”

Tycho looked her right in the eye. He looked her right in the eye for a very long time.

“You're miserable,” he whispered.

“What?” Iris asked, backing away from him.

“You're miserable. You hate it here. You spent your whole life hiding and now you're right back where you started.”

“Really? Do you see any snowflakes? Did I freeze the world again? I think I'm okay. Baldr's the only thing I need, now.”

“You're concealing it from him. The nuns. Probably even yourself. But you're so lonely and miserable and scared of being an unwed mother that you ran right back to the thing you thought was safest and most familiar. A very _tiny_ room. And I don't know what went wrong in your life that stops you from admitting when you're wrong... but whatever it is, you need to let it go.”

“I hate you,” she whispered. “In my world... the other world... You took my Anna away from me. And it ruined me. And I thought that if could have you, I could have pride back. I could be the one in control. I could...”

Tycho could see the tears welling up in her eyes. He had broken her, but he didn't care. She had kept him from his child, and he hated her for that. For a long time she couldn't even look at him. She just stared at the rainbow glass in the window. Then she wiped her nose, and struggling to keep her voice from failing, she gave him a choice.

“Tycho,” Iris said, her lower lip quivering, “We can sit here saying horrible things to each other, or you can spend the day playing with your child. Which would you prefer?”

* * *

 

Morgan sat in a cage sculpted out of transparent ice. It was just cold enough to be uncomfortable, and just small enough to be claustrophobic. Anna stood there, clutching a length of iron pipe she found in the basement. Elsa just stared.

“Which one are you?” she finally asked.

“I'm Muninn of Many Sagas. But you can call me Morgan.”

“Good,” Anna said. “We got the dumb one.”

“I'm not dumb. I've memorized entire libraries of books, most of which haven't even been written yet. What would you like me to do? Shakespeare? Chaucer? Ooh, have you ever heard _Beowulf_ recited the way the Geats told it?”

“I think we got the one that won't shut up,” Elsa observed. “Your brother is Huginn.”

“He-Who-Asks-Oft-Many-Questions, yes.”

“Where is he?”

“Not sure I should tell you that.”

“Really?” Elsa asked, stepping close to the cage. “What do you think I'll do to you if you don't tell us?”

“I don't.”

“What?”

“I don't think,” Morgan explained. “Or I do so seldom, anyway. I'm terrible at it. That's Herald's job.”

“I told you he was the dumb one,” Anna said.

“To be fair, Herald doesn't do so well without me, either. We're like two parts of the same mind. But he often says that I need him more than he needs me.”

Elsa looked at Anna with a shrug. “Okay, sounds good to me. Might as well get as much done as we can while they're divided and functionally idiots. I'm going to find Tycho. Make sure they're okay. Is there anything I should know before I go out there?”

“The rain stopped,” Morgan said.

“Not helpful. Anna, will you be okay watching him?”

“Pfft. Oh, yeah. I got the sacred Rod-of-Bird-Whacking, right here.”

“Great. I'll be back as soon as I can. And if he gives you any trouble, just... Well... Ask yourself, 'what would Tycho do?' And then do that.”

She kissed her sister goodbye, and then cautiously walked out into the world. Heimdlstad was deathly quiet. She hadn't seen such a quiet since that time Iris decided to test the inferred conclusion of thermodynamics. The only sound was the steady trickle of rainwater through the gutters. Even though the rain had stopped, she no one wanted to come out.

It didn't matter. Elsa had work to do. She set off as fast as could, almost at a run. Elsterpark was downhill, but it wasn't hard to find. She could see the great cathedral reaching high above the city even now, and the towering lighthouse a short distance away. Trying her best to keep to the sidewalks and alleys, Elsa quickly navigated the twisted streets. It took perhaps fifteen minutes to make her way down the slope. Record time, considering that this was the sleepiest town in Norway.

As she approached the Elsterpark she stopped beneath a street lamp. An ugly black bird sat atop it, staring down at her.

“Huginn?” she asked.

The bird did not reply. It just stared. Then it dragged its beak across the edge of the street lamp, and upon meeting the corner, reversed the motion. It was a chilling gesture. It reminded Elsa of a straight razor being honed on a barber's strop. Pointing one finger at the creature, she froze it to the core with a blast of ice-magic. The bird fell to the ground and shattered as though it were made of glass. A tiny part of her felt bad about it, but she couldn't take any chances.

Making her way into the convent garden, she quickly crossed the courtyard, and with one final glance over her shoulder, made her way inside. It was eerily quiet... Like even the nuns had fallen under whatever spell of silence gripped the town. But she heard echoing voice. A child's laugh. And then, creeping carefully down the hall, she moved from the narthex to the nave. There, alone under a great vaulted ceiling, were Iris, Tycho, and young Baldr.

For a long moment she didn't want to break the spell. Tycho rolled a ball to his son. Baldr threw it back. They clapped their hands and sang nursery songs. He gripped his boy by the ankles and held him upside down while he giggled uncontrollably. They were a family. Elsa ignored the fact that Iris and Tycho probably hated each other. And she ignored the fact that there was every chance Tycho would never see Baldr again. None of that mattered because for one brief, shining moment they were a family.

And however much Anna and Elsa might love each other, in her heart of hearts she doubted they would ever know that kind of joy.

“Hail to thee, Grand-daughter,” a creaking voice said. It was the deepest, richest sound Elsa had ever heard, like the groan of a great wooden ship as its hull flexed against ice.

Elsa didn't even bother to turn around. “You took your time,” she said.

“I am declining in the vale of years,” Wotan said. “For even the Aesir live and die by the turning of the great wheel, long though it may be. Patient and forgiving in equal measure, I bide my time and act only when needs must.”

“I won't let you hurt them. And I won't freeze the world for you.”

“I foresaw all this. Wise is the father who knows his own child, and cursed be the father to one as thankless as you. I need neither your aid nor your consent to do this thing. Baldr has the magic. He will be my arm and my sword.”

Elsa thought about that. She thought long and hard, and when she understood what he implied, she finally turned to face him. Wotan was a tired, bent old man. His body was wrapped in shades of blue, and he wore a wide-brimmed slouch hat over a wrinkled, shattered face. The Elder God's right eye was missing entirely. He did not bother to wear a patch but rather let the world see his empty socket. In his hand he clutched the spear, Gungnir. And behind him stood a dark and slender man much like the one she left trapped in a frozen cage.

“Huginn,” she guessed.

He took a sharp breath. What twisted thoughts were curling around in that mind? What had she given away by revealing what she knew?

“I have to go,” Herald said.

“You will stay,” Wotan commanded.

“If she knows who I am then she knows where Muninn is. Something is wrong.”

Wotan raised a hand, and silenced his servant. Then he turned his empty eye back to Elsa, and shifted his weight off the shaft of the spear. “You will step aside, Elsa Frost-Maiden. Or you will see my wrath.”

“Tycho!” she screamed, stepping back. “Run!” Raising one hand she unleashed the storm inside of her, a blast of polar magic that sent jagged spikes of ice erupting from the floor. They careened towards Wotan, then suddenly twisted away from him. Giant, razor tipped icicles bent and curved as though they had struck against some solid object and had nowhere else to go.

“Imprudent,” Wotan said. He lunged with his spear, and Elsa retreated.

Baldr was screaming. Iris clutched her child to her chest. Tycho ran down the middle of the nave, standing defiantly next to Elsa. Glancing out the corner of her eye, she saw that Tycho had no weapon except for a candlestick, which he held as though it were a club. She realized, far too late, that she had warned him not to bring his gun.

“Tycho,” she said, still backing away from Wotan. “You really need to run, now.”

“You know I can't do that.”

Wotan moved faster than she expected. The frail old man she looked upon was nothing but a ruse. He lunged again with Gungnir. Tycho struck it with the candlestick and tried to push his way past the jagged tip. For a moment he succeeded, until Wotan reversed the spear and brought the butt of the shaft up against the side of Tycho's skull. Tycho fell face-first into a pew and lay there, unmoving. Maybe even dead.

“There she goes,” Herald said.

Carrying Baldr in her arms, Iris ran around the altar to the side door. With a single swift movement, Wotan hurled his spear fifty meters to see it pierce both of her legs. Iris cried out, fell, and dropped Baldr to the floor. He rolled across the hard stone surface. There was a terrifying silence where he made no sound, as if stunned. Then he looked into the eyes of his mother and began to scream again.

“You're a monster!” Elsa shouted, with tears in her eyes.

“I am,” Wotan said. He walked past her, ignoring Tycho completely, and made his way down the length of the nave to stand over the dying mother. Herald followed close behind, as if he was somehow safe within Wotan's powerful aura.

Iris grimaced as she dragged herself across the floor... both legs impaled on Gungnir's shaft. A trail of smeared blood followed her. But she wouldn't stop. Not until she reached her child. Her face was red. Beads of sweat exploded across her skin. Her nails dug into the stone tiles of the cold floor. She couldn't stop. Her baby needed her.

Wotan gripped the spear and pulled it free. Iris screamed a second time. An explosion of raw pain and terror. Arterial blood gushed from her inner thigh. Magic poured out of her fingertips, bright flashes of blue and white that curled around Wotan but did not touch him. Elsa joined her, unleashing as much force as she could. All the blizzards in all the worlds seemed contained in this one room. Fractal patterns exploded around him, gale force winds carried shards of ice, the oxygen in the air started to liquify from sheer, soul-numbing cold. And yet, when the two women collapsed from exhaustion, Wotan stood, unharmed.

Picking the squealing child up in one hand, he looked to Herald. “See to your brother, now. Summon me when the Gate is ready.”

Herald said nothing. He just took off running, out the cathedral's side door and into the streets of Heimdlstad.

“But that this would have ended otherwise,” Wotan said, staring down at his second grand-daughter. Elsa removed her cape and pressed it against Iris' leg as though she should someone stem the tide of femoral blood.

“My baby,” Iris whispered, grasping at him and leaving bloody marks on Wotan's robe.

“Your child will live as a prince,” Wotan explained. “For I am the greatest of Ring-Givers. Now, Elsa-Who-Is-Called-Iris, One with the Air and Darkness, prepare yourself for the Einherjar.”

When Elsa looked up, he was gone and Baldr with him. Iris clapped her bloody hands on Elsa's cheeks and held her close. Iris' skin was pale as ash. There was a wild terror in her eyes. Her lips were trembling as they tried to form words.

“My baby...” Iris gasped.

“I know,” Elsa said, brushing the hair out of Iris' face. “I know we'll fix it. We'll fix it somehow.”

“Tycho... I'm sorry...”

“I'll tell him,” Elsa promised.

“The sword...” Iris said, “My room...” And then she stopped. A great calm came over her. She looked past Elsa, through her, staring into space as though she watched something a million miles away. Elsa quickly looked over her shoulder, but saw nothing.

“What is it Iris?” she cried. “Tell me what you see.”

“Valkyr,” Iris said.

And then she slept.

Elsa cried for her. She gasped, and choked, and sobbed, alone there in the cathedral. A nun walked in and screamed, but Elsa ignored her. The world was a million miles away. Taking Iris in her arms, she lifted her limp body and placed her on a pew. Tears fell like rain as she folded Iris' cold hands just so, and closed her eyes.

Not many people get to see what they look like in death.

Then she stood, and looked about her. The altar was shattered. A dozen pews had been split or tossed aside in the great maelstrom. An unpleasant crimson splatter marked where Tycho fell.

“Tycho?” Elsa asked, suddenly realizing he was gone. “ _Tycho_ ?”

* * *

 

“So what’s it like being a bird?” Anna asked.

“I’m not a bird,” Morgan explained, still sitting in his ice-sculpted cage. “I'm a Valravn. Herald and I ate the eyes of an unburied Jarl, slain in battle, and took the minds and forms of Men. Did you ever hear the song the Kvenlanders wrote about us?”

 

_Why suffer'st thy Ring-Giver, unburied yet,_

_To wait upon the Draugr's frozen hand?_

_Pay homage to thy chieftain with thy tears,_

_What feast gives wings to frightful Valravn?_

 

“Um... yeah, no, I never heard that one.”

“Oh,” Morgan said, clearly deflated. “Fine. Doesn't matter.”

“So do you just follow people around all the time, or what?”

“Not all the time,” he explained, absentmindedly tapping on the frozen bars of his cage. “And just the people Wotan is actually interested in. You'd be surprised how many people he keeps an eye on, even if he rarely intervenes.”

“Uh huh. And how does that work out for you?”

“It’s not a bad gig. Except when stuff like this happens.”

“I think I'd get bored,” Anna said.

“Oh no,” Morgan said. “It’s tremendously interesting to me. I think of all the realms, Midgard is the most interesting of all. There’s always something going on here. The rest of the Gods tend towards entropy and stability. Maybe that’s what happens when you live for three thousand years. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Anna said, scratching her head. “So you don’t mind that Wotan wants to bring about Ragnarok and destroy it all?”

“Not all, just the Vanir.”

Anna raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Morgan continued, gesturing emphatically as he talked. “The Aesir and the Vanir have been at each other’s throats for centuries. Most people think it ended in the eighth century. Not so. They just split Midgard into two identical halves and agreed to disagree. So it’s taken a while, but Wotan is finally fed up and so he wants to manipulate Elsa into destroying their world. He’s an old God himself, and he’s honestly kind of running on empty at this point. And if he did it himself, people might notice.”

“’People might notice?’ You mean, people might notice an epic winter followed by Surtr and the Jormungand worm?”

“Not so much people as things. There are far darker things in the universe than Viking deities. Older things. Things that exist in the angles of space and time where madness is food and nightmares are drink.”

“And these things are evil?” Anna asked.

Morgan shrugged. “Herald doesn’t think so. He says they just are. Those concepts don’t even apply to the Great Old Ones. I’m not even sure they comprehend us as living things or care much either way. But if Wotan destroys the Vanir World, the Old Ones will notice and would crush Asgard the way a woman crushes a serpent beneath her heel. If the mortals do it to themselves, then it looks like a serpent eating its tail. A self-correcting problem.”

“Huh. And what do you think about all this?”

“I don’t.”

“Okay,” Anna said, standing up and pacing the floor. “Let me see if I understand this. You’ve been alive and watching the mortal world day in and day out for...”

“…one thousand twenty nine years.”

“So then what are your great conclusions about life, the universe, and the human condition?”

“I don't know,” Morgan said. “Ummm... 'Life's a bitch and then it ends?' Maybe?”

“What? Seriously?”

“That's what my brother always says. I don't think about it much. Almost never, in fact. Herald does most of the thinking.”

“Okay... hang on...” Anna said. “You seriously never think for yourself? You let him lead you around all day? I ask because as much as you’re an idiot, he’s an asshole.”

“I never thought about it...”

“Oh, of course not,” she groaned, utterly exasperated.

“...but it's not so bad, right?” Morgan continued. “I mean, I help him out, too. He has the worst memory I've ever seen. You should see it sometimes... He'll write himself a page of notes and then forget what the notes mean. It's kind of funny. Ask yourself this: If you could be really smart or have a really good memory, which would you pick?”

“That's a funny question,” Anna said. “I wouldn't think you could have one without the other. If I had a bad memory, could you really say I'm smart? ”

Morgan shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Do you realize that you are the single most infuriating person I've ever had the misfortune of talking to? I mean, you are the strangest person I've ever met. And I know a talking snowman. Seriously. Think about that.”

“I would if I could.”

“Wow,” she snapped. “That stopped being funny like half an hour ago. Quit making excuses.”

There was a long moment of silence. Anna paced the halls, then returned to the pantry. She opened every drawer and cupboard, hoping to find something to eat. The thought of running across the street to the inn did not appeal to her. Aside from the obvious problem of leaving the prisoner unsupervised, she doubted the inn served anything that was less than 100-proof.

“I heard you talking to Halvdan back there,” Morgan said. “Did you mean what you said? About leaving Elsa for him?”

“I don't think that's any business of yours,” Anna replied.

“It kind of is. We've kept an eye on him, too. He's a good guy. He doesn't deserve to be jerked around like that.”

“Look, I don’t know. I don’t want to leave Elsa. But at the same time, I can't live like this anymore. I'm so sick of being afraid. Of having to lie to people... Of having to hide what we have. I love her, and she makes me happy, but I'm starting to wonder if she wasn't right... If being with her doesn't get outweighed by having to hide from the world. Especially when jerks like you can’t leave us alone. It’s getting tiresome.”

“So what's Tycho's deal, anyway?” Morgan asked. “I've seen some unhappy romantics in my day, but he takes the cake. Does he really think that if he waits long enough or beats up enough bad guys for you, that one day you'll fall for him?”

“I fell for him a long time ago,” she confessed. “Before we even got on the boat. It's just that I fell for my sister first. And I'll always love her more. Besides, I think you've got it all wrong. Tycho's not waiting for anyone. He says that because he's upset, but it's not true.”

“Huh. So then what drives a man like that?”

Anna took a deep breath. “Tycho needs to be needed... Actually, that's a bad way to say it... What I mean is, Tycho needs to live for the sake of another person. He needs a cause. He has to be part of something bigger than himself. That's how he finds meaning in life.”

“Okay. I get it. So he's like an anti - John Galt?”

“I don't know who that is.”

“Don't worry about it,” Morgan said. “I know the type. If every King had a retainer as loyal as him, the world would be a better place.”

“Hey, wait... Did you just put two ideas together and arrive at a new conclusion?” Anna asked.

“I don't think so,” Morgan replied.

“Of course you don't,” she sighed. Then, hungry and more than a little exhausted, she returned to the room and sat down in front of the cage. “You know, you’re pretty talkative for someone who wants to destroy the world. Do you just not have a filter?”

“Not really. I’m Wotan’s eyes and ears. I was made to tell him the Truth, and the whole Truth, all the time. It’s what I do. Besides, I like talking. I learn just as much from you as you do from me.”

That thought did not make her comfortable at all. But, perhaps against better judgment, she decided to stick with this train of conversation and see where it led.

“So if you always tell the Truth…”

“I don’t. I lie when needs must. I’m just no good at it. My brother is Thought and I am Memory. He schemes, I learn. And a good liar needs good wits. I can remember a story all day long and recite it verbatim. But improvisation? That's Herald's bag.”

Suddenly, the door swung open.

“Oops,” Morgan said. “Speak of the devil.”

“Morgan?” Herald called. “I forgot which house it was a-“ he stopped, looking from Anna, to the cage, and back to Anna. “Oh for fuck’s sake…” he swore.

Anna grabbed up the lead pipe and swung. Herald stepped back, and it missed him by an inch. Then he lunged, seizing Anna’s arms. They struggled for a moment, until he twisted the pipe out of her hands and delivered a swift punch to the throat. Anna collapsed, coughing and gagging, barely able to breathe.

“No!” Morgan shouted.

“Oh, please,” Herald said, kicking her while she was down. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Have you been talking this whole time? Nevermind. Of course you have. How much did you tell her?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Herald just stared at him.

“Fine. We talked about lots of stuff. What happened to you?”

Herald went about attacking the ice cage with the pipe. It took several blows before the crystalline bars began to shatter. Once he damaged one end, it became much easier to apply leverage and snap the remainder.

“We got in a fight. The boss killed Iris and took the kid.”

“What?” Anna gasped, struggling to prop herself up against the wall.

“You heard me,” he said. “Morgan, tell me you got the portal ready.”

“No, I- Oh, _shit_ !”

Herald spun around, his makeshift weapon ready.

Tycho Halvdan shot him in the face.

That was thirteen. But he wasn't counting.

* * *

 

Anna and Morgan both screamed as Herald’s limp, blood-splattered body collapsed. Morgan clutched at his brother, pulling him close to his chest. His skull was opened with a whole almost a half-inch wide. The back of the back of the head was a mass of exploded bone and meat. White smoke and stench of gunpowder hung in the air.

“No no no no,” Morgan gasped, unable to comprehend his total impotence.

“Tycho!” Anna cried, as he helped her to her feet. “Oh, God, what happened to you?”

Tycho was uneasy on his feet. He swayed back and forth like a drunk, until he finally leaned against a wall. The entire right half of his face was covered with crimson gore. His right eye was swollen and black. It was a miracle he could stand at all.

“I feel sick,” he said, sinking to the floor.

“Here, let me see,” she said, trying to open his injured eye. The moment her fingers touched it, he cried out and slapped her hands away. “Can you even see?” she asked.

“Left eye, yes. Right eye... maybe.”

“What happened? Where's Elsa?”

“The convent,” he said, breathing hard. He pulled a cartridge from his pocket. Trembling fingers went through the reloading process, as though his hands had learned it well enough to work independently. “Wotan came. Hit me in the head.”

“Oh, no... Hang on, don't move,” she said, then looked to Morgan. “You! What's going on?”

Morgan didn't respond. He was lost inside himself. Anna carefully took the gun out of Tycho's hand, brought the hammer to full cock, and stood there. She looked down on Morgan, distant and insensate in his grief.

“What happens now?” she asked, pressing the gun against Morgan's head.

“Do it,” Morgan whispered. “I can't live without him.”

For a long minute Anna regarded him with a cold and contemptuous stare. Then she realized the stupidity of shooting the only person who could point the way to Wotan. Aiming the gun at the floor, she gently, very gently, returned the hammer to rest.

“No,” Anna said. “I'm not going to do that. And I'm not going to let you sit here and rot, either. People heard the gunshot, they'll be coming sooner or later. We have to move.”

“Not going,” the Valravn muttered.

Anna seized him by the collar and pulled him to his knees. “Look at me, Morgan... Look at me! You are not going to quit, now. You are going to grow up, take hold of yourself, and figure things out. And I swear I'll drag you to Asgard myself, if that's what it takes to make this right.”

The rain returned, then. Dark clouds split open and it fell in a torrent. The room was silent, except for the low rumble of raindrops striking the ceiling and windows.

“It's time you thought for yourself,” she said, then turned and helped Tycho to his feet. He gasped, and winced, but still managed to put one foot in front of the other despite his concussion. “Come on. I can't believe you ran all the way up the hill.”

“Had to stop him,” he mumbled.

“He said Wotan killed Iris.”

“I heard. I couldn't see. I don't remember it.” They stood, then, before the door and stared out into the silver wall of rain. Torrential sheets of water fell with stinging force. Anna took Tycho's hand.

“Can you do this?”

“Yes,” he lied. “But I don't know where to go.”

“The lighthouse,” Morgan said.

“What?”

“Wotan will go to the lighthouse. We had a plan. He would wait until we opened a Gate... That's the weird mirror thing in the other room. Then he would come here when all was ready. He's probably making it rain, just to keep people off the streets. But he was going to wait at the lighthouse.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Anna asked.

“Because I hate him,” Morgan explained. “Herald wasn't always this way. Wotan wasn't, either. He turned dark and hateful, and brought Herald down with him. And I didn't do anything to stop it. I didn't think.”

“Do you really believe that?” Tycho asked. “Or are you just telling her what she wants to hear?”

“I'm bad at telling lies. I'm always supposed to speak the Truth. That's my job. But I lie, anyway. I tell myself lots of lies. And I'm very, very bad at it.”

“Will you come with us?” Anna offered.

“Anna, no...” Tycho started, but she held up a hand and stopped him.

It took Morgan a long time to decide. He was bad at making choices. “No,” he finally said. “Just let me be.”

* * *

 

“So Wotan hit you with his spear?” Anna asked, as they walked quickly through the rain. It washed most of the blood off Tycho's face, letting her see the terrible contusion. From where she stood, she couldn't tell how much of the swelling was from broken broken bone and how much from bruised flesh.

“I think so,” Tycho said, gingerly clutching the side of his face. Anna carried his gun tucked under her cape in an attempt to keep the powder dry. Every few moments he winced or hissed for no apparent reason, and sometimes she caught him drunkenly swaying as he walked. “I don't remember it very well.”

“And you said your eye is clouded up?”

“It's like looking through veil. Like there's a curtain creeping in from the right.”

“Are you going to be alright?”

Tycho considered lying to her again, but decided not to. He might as well come out with it, for his sake as much as hers. “I saw a man once. A powder magazine exploded and a stone struck him in the head. I didn't see it happen. But he described it exactly like I did, and in a few weeks he went blind in that eye.”

“Oh no,” Anna whispered. “And that's the eye you shoot with.”

He shook his rain-soaked head, and immediately regretted it. The back and forth movement was painful enough to be incapacitating. Tycho had to rest against a nearby fence until the world stopped spinning.

“I'm done,” he said. “I'm done being a marksman anyway. Makes no difference.” Then he stopped, and struggled to see through the rain with his remaining good eye. “Is that Elsa?”

The Mistress of Wind and Sky walked up the hill towards them. She wore Tycho's greatcoat, which he had left behind after retrieving his pistol. On her shoulder rested the deceptively battered sword named Nothung. It was an ancient sword, given by Wotan to Sigmund, shattered by Gungnir when Sigmund rebelled against his father, and reforged in the heart of the world at the command of Freyr. Over the past three years it had been shared between Elsa and Iris. Every time Elsa wished herself rid of it, Iris took it for her in the sure and certain knowledge that one day she would need it again.

“Elsa!” Anna cried, throwing herself into her sister's arms. They embraced, and kissed there in the pouring rain. At that moment they no longer cared who watched. Then Elsa moved to Tycho, and gently reached for his battered face. He stepped back.

“Please don't.”

“Tycho, what happened? Where did you go?”

“I had to chase Herald. I caught up with him.”

“And?”

“He's dead,” Anna said.

“And the other one?”

“Grieving,” she continued.

“I don't believe it. He's going to turn into a bird or something and fly to Wotan.”

“I don't think so. I don't think he has the guile for that. He's broken inside. Trust me.”

“We're going to the lighthouse,” Tycho explained.

Elsa fell in with them, continuing down the hill. They were, collectively soaked. Tycho's boots made squishing noises with every step. As did Anna's. She, at least, had the benefit of a wool cape.

“Do you want your coat back?” Elsa asked. “You can have it. The cold doesn't bother me anyway.”

“Doesn't matter,” he said. “We're almost there.”

“Iris wanted me to say she was sorry.”

“I don't care.”

“Yes you do,” Elsa insisted. “I know you better than that. You can't hate her that much. It's just too bad you couldn't have been there, at the end.”

Tycho said nothing. The three of them marched as quick as they could, past the convent and down to the pier, until they stood before the wave-struck rocks and looked up at the light tower. It was old. Decrepit, even. A runestone sat next to the door. A warning, perhaps? A way to mark this site as a secret meeting place of the Aesir?

Elsa didn't hesitate. She walked right up to the door and struck it with her sword. It split in two like a tree struck by lightning. Two rusted sheets of metal fell before her. And they entered the lair of Wotan.

* * *

 

“The Gods have given you one path but you tread upon another,” Wotan said.

He stood in a large, round room. A spiral staircase ascended into the heights of the tower. The floor was covered in strange marks and runes much like the Gate they had seen in Morgan's room. Baldr sat at Wotan's feet. The poor child was terrified beyond crying. He had no tears left to give, and no voice left to scream. It stank of mold and dust.

“Hail to thee, Storm-Child, Spring-Child, and Far-Hunter,” he continued. “Have you come to say 'Farewell, fair cruelty,' and send us on our way?”

“Shut! Up!” Elsa shouted. She shuffled the coat off her shoulders. A blue glow wrapped around her as ice-armor materialized on her body. It was dense beyond all comprehension, a whole new phase of ice with a crystal lattice formed under megabars of pressure. It was a form of ice that could not, in any rational world, exist at sea-level atmosphere. In many ways, it was closer to steel than ice.

Tycho quickly took aim. For a split second the pistol trembled in his uncertain left hand. There was a flash, a bang, a cloud of smoke, and Wotan stood unharmed. The Old God held one fist in front of his face. Slowly uncurling his fingers, the deformed ball dropped to the floor.

Baldr wailed and clutched his splitting ears.

Elsa was next. She charged Wotan, ready for his spear. He stabbed once, twice; Both times Elsa leaped out of the way. Striking Gungnir aside with her sword, for one brief moment she believed she had pushed past his guard. No such luck. Wotan swept the ground with the butt of the shaft and knocked her feet out from under her. The sword clattered to the floor.

Now Tycho lunged forward again, but Anna held him back. Wotan stared at them for a moment and, satisfied that they were cowed, he turned his attention back to Elsa. She tried to rise, but Wotan brought the spear down on her breastplate and pinned her to the floor.

“Must I slay you too, Grandchild? Will tiny Baldr be my only kin? Resist me not. This tale has reached its end. Come with me, be Mother to him, and leave behind the world of death and tears.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Elsa spat. Then she saw movement out the corner of her eye.

Tycho, fool that he was, ran to her. He flipped his pistol in his hand as if he might use the butt as a club. Wotan placed a foot on Elsa's chest, and leveled his spear at the man. Tycho stopped, but moved to one side, and then the other. He danced just outside of Gungnir's reach.

“Miserable coward,” Wotan named him. “Miserable foo-”

Anna picked up the sword and stabbed him in the back. Nothung bit deep, sliding effortlessly between Wotan's ribs and emerging through his neck. The spear fell out of his hands. It made the sound of a thunderclap when it struck the floor.

Elsa quickly scrambled across the floor and took Baldr in her arms. “Don't look, baby,” she whispered. “Don't look.”

Wotan's mouth hung open in a silent, breathless scream. There was no sound, save that of the falling rain. He stepped toward Elsa, reaching out for her. One step. Two. And then the Aesir King fell dead.

“Anna!” Elsa cried out.

As if dazed, Anna fell backwards and caught herself on the staircase. She was breathing hard. Her heart was pounding out of control. There was no color in her face.

“I did it,” she whispered, still gasping for breath. “I did it.”

And then Tycho finally let himself pass out.

* * *

 

Every time Tycho Halvdan woke up, there was nothing but astonishing, crippling pain. And this morning was worst than most. He had spent the night (nights?) in a world of vivid, hallucinatory dreams. There he saw Great Cthulhu, dead but dreaming in his ocean palace; Cosmic strings, the one-dimensional fractures in the pillars of Creation; The Vast Pyramid of Ij, where scribes kept the skulls of heroes and counted the days they had been dead. And through all the restless, terrifying visions there was the pain.

It was the third day before he could open his eyes for more than a few minutes. The pain was still there, but it was quieter now. Muted, just a little. His mouth tasted of cinnamon and alcohol. It took a moment for the scattered thoughts to assemble, and he recognized it meant someone had been feeding him medicinal laudanum. And he was grateful for it.

“Hey there,” a familiar voice said. Rapunzel had done him the favor of sitting to his left. She sat in a rocking chair with a half-knitted scarf in her hands. A stack of books lay on the floor next to her, along with several candles melted down to stumps. “Are you going to wake up for real this time?”

“Rapunzel,” he whispered, and reached out to her. Picking up the chair, she scooted closer so that she could take his hand and hold it in her lap.

“You've been in and out for three days. Elsa told me what happened. The doctor says the bone surrounding your eye is cracked. He called it the 'orbit.' Also, try not to sneeze or blow your nose. That might make it worse. I wish I could just sing a magic song and-”

“You came back.”

The Princess of Prussia wiped at the corner of her eye and nodded. “I missed you. At first I was upset. I wanted to go back to Schleswig. But when the time came I couldn't do it. I didn't want to go back without you. And I thought about what you said. I still think it's gross, but if Elsa and Anna are happy together... If that's their dream... Then they can do whatever they want.”

“That makes me happy,” Tycho said. “You don't even know. I really thought I'd never see you again.”

“I don't believe that. You never know when to quit, and I don't know how you do it. You kept fighting for the better part of thirty minutes before you let yourself pass out.”

“I move and shoot,” he explained. “When I got my first commission, my company's Sersjant told me, 'Whenever you don't know what to do, move and shoot. And if you can't do either, form a square.' So I just think about what's in front of me. If I think too hard about the big picture, I get overwhelmed. I move and shoot.”

“That must be the advantage of being a soldier,” Rapunzel said. “Shoot three balls a minute in any weather and you've done your part.”

“It's kind of the only one.” Tycho turned his head just far enough so that he could see his hand resting in hers. Her hands were tiny. Fragile. Beautiful. Perfect, even.

“Where's Baldr?” he asked.

“He's playing with Elsa and Anna. There's... There's a problem. He kind of thinks Elsa is his mother. She looks so much like Iris.”

“They're identical. They were the same person. Except where it counted,” he groaned as he sat up in bed. Vertigo overwhelmed him for a moment... The kind of weird head rush that made everything go purple. Rapunzel stood for him, holding his shoulders in case he should fall. And somewhere in the middle, he completely lost his train of thought. Whether it was the concussion, or the laudanum, or the sheer depth of her beauty, he didn't know. But he stopped and stared into her eyes. Glistening, joyful, sparkling eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Rapunzel,” Tycho said. “I don't want to be alone. I can't do it anymore. I thought I could, but I'm all used up. I'm tired, and I'm scared, and I don't want to be alone anymore.”

“Tycho,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “I'm going to give you a hint. You need to stop waiting for life to happen and take what you want.”

He pulled her into a kiss. Deep. Passionate. Painful, for him. Tycho didn't care. There was no anesthetic in the world as powerful as a woman's kiss, magic hair or no. For a brief moment he hesitated, feeling her tremble and catch her breath. Rapunzel couldn't wait. She opened her mouth for him and pulled him into her.

And there, gasping, whispering, tasting her lips and dancing with her soft tongue, Tycho realized something. He had known Queens and Princesses. He had desired them. Perhaps he loved them. But this was the first woman he needed. A woman he could not go on without. A woman who maybe, just maybe, needed him as badly as he needed her.

“Marry me,” he gasped between kisses. “Please.”

Rapunzel grinned, and nodded enthusiastically, and they kissed again. She put her hands on his cheeks, and Tycho cried out loud. The pain in his bruised and fractured eye was unbearable. Somewhere, in the distance, he heard Rapunzel apologizing over and over again. And when it subsided, at least to a dull roar, she was still holding his hand.

“It's okay,” she whispered. “I'll wait for you. We have time. But first you need to see your son.”

* * *

 

Anna and Baldr chased each other around the trees in the convent of Elsterpark. Elsa and Morgan stood under a tree and watched them. There was a headstone at their feet, marked with the name 'Elsa of the Aesir.' Elsa of the Vanir found it profoundly creepy to see her own name there. She wished they had called her 'Iris.' But it was her choice, not theirs, and it was not the first bad choice Iris had made.

“Look at that,” Morgan said. “They're perfect together.”

Baldr loved Anna. She was, perhaps, the funnest and funniest person he'd ever met in his short life. Nonetheless, he stopped every few minutes to make sure his 'Mommy' hadn't vanished on him. His separation anxiety was intense. And Elsa, for her part, was the only one who could calm the nightmares that struck him every single time he closed his eyes.

“They are,” she admitted.

“I heard you talking... before. That you might want to let her go, so she could have a normal life?”

“Yes. I still think about it. And so does she. I'm pretty sure she won't be marrying Tycho. Rapunzel came back to him, and she hasn't left his side.”

“But she's married to you.”

“No,” Elsa said. “Not really. We pretend that we are. But we've never been really married.”

“Doesn't matter,” Morgan insisted. “Not to the powers that be. If you spoke your troth and meant it, that is good enough for any God that counts. Elsa, can I tell you a story?”

“I think you will, anyway.”

“Correct. I've been watching you for a long time. Not every day. Not even every year. And sometimes I let Grip or Edgar or someone do it for me. But here it goes. In 1791, you injured your sister, and you sequestered yourself. Or you were sequestered. Doesn't matter.”

“I didn't forget,” Elsa said, with a deadpan affect.

“For that entire first year she had nightmares about never seeing you again. Between 1791 and 1797, Anna drew one hundred seventeen pictures that featured you in some form or fashion. She asked you if you wanted to build a snowman on forty seven different occasions. By 1798 she had written fourteen short stories in which some handsome Prince came to rescue you, or at least a metaphorical equivalent of you.”

“Stop,” Elsa demanded, with tears in her eyes. “I don't need to hear this.

“I'm not done yet,” Morgan insisted. “In 1798 she switched to poetry and although the subject matter is a bit harder to discern, I believe at least fifty-eight poems were about her feelings for you. Between 1792 and 1804, every single year on your birthday Anna baked you a cake in the sure and certain knowledge that year would be the year that you came out. And every year, on your birthday and her own, she cried herself to sleep because you didn't come. Starting in 1803-”

“Stop, dammit!” Elsa was actually crying now. She turned her back to Anna and Baldr, and hid her face so that they wouldn't see. “I get it, alright? I get it.”

“Elsa, if I knew someone like that I would never think of leaving them in a million years. Not for any reason. Come what may and what may come, I would never give her up.”

“I understand,” she said, wiping her face. “Oh, no. Tycho's up.”

And so he was. Rapunzel led him from the dormitory to the garden, where he watched his son for a moment. He approached the boy, but Baldr took one look at his father's battered face and squealed in terror. He didn't run to Anna, but came straight for Elsa.

“Mommy!” he cried, holding his hands high in a gesture for her to pick him up. She did, and Baldr buried his face in her neck and whimpered.

“He's been like this since it happened,” Elsa explained. “But I seem to help. On the first day he couldn't stop touching my hair. He... He thinks I'm Iris and he was confused as to why the color was different.”

“I know,” Tycho said. “Rapunzel explained it to me. And he can keep on thinking that. For a while yet, at least.”

“Oh God, Tycho,” Anna said. “You're not giving us your baby, are you? That's too much. You can't do that.”

“No, no, I wouldn't do that. I want to raise him. I want to be involved. But I'll need your help. He's hurt, and he needs to heal. We can make it gradual. And if you can help care for him until he's ready, I would appreciate it very much.”

“We can do that,” Elsa agreed, as she rocked the child back and forth. “I need to find a Gate, now.”

“What?”

“I want to go back to 1807 and tell younger me that I'll end up raising Tycho Halvdan's baby. Just to see the look on my face.”

They all laughed. Even Baldr, although he didn't really know why.

“And I've got some other news,” Tycho said. “Rapunzel and I are going to-” Suddenly he stopped, and looked around. “Hey, wait, where'd Morgan go?”

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue, 1837**

 

Coronation Day.

It was Coronation Day in London, and the renowned actress Maria Hjerten commanded the stage where she performed a selection of songs and scenes for Her Majesty, the newly crowned Queen Victoria. Despite her inauspicious beginnings, in the last fifteen years Maria had become famous across Europe as one of the greatest actresses of her age. And she owed it all to her teacher, mentor, patron, and director: Morgan of Stavanger.

He was a strange man. After their first, disastrous play, he and his brother apparently went their separate ways. Somehow, Morgan still had the money to finance another production and he demanded a return to the Shakespearean classics. It was fair to say that the theatre circuit was pretty well glutted with Shakespeare troupes, but Morgan was a unique director.

He knew everything, for starters, or at least he seemed to. The man appeared to have an infinite capacity for knowledge of all sorts. He knew every line of every play in every language. He performed in an astonishing range of voices and affects. And he seemed to have an unlimited knowledge of every performance, no matter how ancient or obscure.

At least once during every rehearsal, he would find some hapless actor and begin shouting indecipherable things like, “Don't do that! That's how Camden did it at Bear Garden and it was a flop! I want you to be like Alleyn! The first season Alleyn! Here, observe.” And he would inevitably launch into a thoroughly nuanced and utterly heartbreaking reproduction of some famous performance that only he could recall. But whatever his eccentricities, he was the world's greatest and most knowledgeable director.

A writer, he was not.

And his final idiosyncrasy, which caused outrage amongst the Bard's purists, was that Morgan always reserved a final soliloquy for himself, and it was always the same no matter which play they happened to be performing that night. He joined Maria on the stage, then, to recite the verse together with her.

 

_The king’s a beggar, now the play is done:_

_All is well ended if this suit be won_

_That you express content; which we will pay,_

_With strife to please you, day exceeding day:_

_Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;_

_Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts._

 

Curtain.

* * *

 

****The End** **

 

_Thank you to everyone who encouraged me and left reviews. Your comments shaped the storyline in ways you don't even know, and your praise carried me through writer's block, discouragement, and lengthy re-writes. Please let me hear from you, because reader's comments mean the world to me._


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